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white-collar-lawmen-and-conmen · 3 years

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Cross the Ocean

A/N: Requested by @starry--skies. Sidenote: this may be a good story for a sequel sometime.

Summary: Neal once told you he would cross the ocean to be with you, but when you know he’s in danger, you’ll cross the ocean yourself to save him.

Word Count: 2,955

How could an apartment feel so cold and empty when the same number of people dwelled in its walls? You supposed it had been long enough that all the signs of him had faded. Spare clothes, returned to June, because there was no one else to return them to; the extra toothbrush trashed because no one was using it, anyway, and why have it take up more space? The linens could only go unwashed for so long, the last flowers he had offered died months ago, and his necklace was sitting in your jewelry box, unseen, because it hurt too much to wear it.

The same number of people lived in it, true. But Neal hadn’t needed to live there to leave his mark, and now that mark was gone, jumped on a plane without a goodbye, just like him.

~~~ Cross the Ocean ~~~

“Don’t go,” you said, unprompted, staring across the room to the dark shadows covering the wall.

You could feel his movement as Neal picked up his head. “Where would I go?” He asked, confused, sleepiness adorably muddling his voice.

You shrugged halfheartedly, already regretting having said it out loud. He felt your shoulders under his arm and tightened his warm hold on you, tugging you closer to the heat of his chest.

“Just don’t go,” you said again, hugging yourself comfortingly.

The idea that the man beside you could leave – had a history of leaving – without a trace left you feeling cold already. You were a cautious person, but loving someone the way you suspected you were growing to love Neal made you want to let down your guard. It was scary, like taking off the Kevlar vest to assuage someone with a gun; you were reasonably certain that you were safe, but you were also making yourself vulnerable to massive injury.

Neal moved his hand slowly, probably just so you would know that he hadn’t fallen asleep. He didn’t answer right away. The silence and the stroking of your arm sent mixed messages and you had just about settled on reading it as pity, and almost curled up tighter and moved away. Did he think you were clingy? Did he think it was pitiful that you expected him to stay with you? Maybe you had misread everything.

His hand stopped moving and he moved again, just enough to press his lips to your forehead. “Y/N,” he said, softly, his voice clearer. Thinking on it had woken him up more. “I don’t plan to go anywhere. Definitely not anywhere you can’t follow.”

Whew. There was a softness and delicateness to the way he talked to you, but it sure didn’t sound like pity or exasperation. More like… empathy, and maybe apology, for your evident insecurity and any role that his past played in it.

“I guess I just – I keep thinking one day I’ll wake up and you’ll be an ocean away.” Without me, you wanted to add, but figured it was implied. And unnecessary, probably, since he had done it to Kate before, or close enough. He had likely learned the kind of damage that did to a relationship.

Neal resumed his gentle stroking of your arm. “Oceans aren’t a big deal. We’ve got cruises and airplanes now,” he reassured with a playful bit of teasing. More seriously, but very simply and matter-of-factly, he continued, “And if someday we wake up an ocean apart, I’d cross the ocean.”

~~~ Cross the Ocean ~~~

It was easy to be bitter and easy to resent. In the beginning, you had been insecure, nervous that he would leave overnight when an opportunity arose. How could you not? Neal tried to leave forever without so much as a goodbye to anyone, only stopped by a bomb and a lost love. It had irked you then, and it scared you when your rapport deepened. He had fake documents ready to go, an agreed-upon rendezvous point with Mozzie planned for any given time. Neal worked hard to assure you he loved you. You weren’t sure he ever managed to convince you there was no chance of his leaving, but you at least had confidence that he would say goodbye, give you a chance to have closure.

No such luck. Part of you knew it wasn’t out of lack of desire, but rather lack of opportunity. The other part wanted it to shut up. Love him as you did, you knew Neal’s situation was a product of his own choices. He made his bed, and he should have lied in it, but for the family he had found in the city who loved him too much to let him rot in the pocket of a man who’d use him as a tool and throw him back in prison the second he stopped being useful – or, worse, leave him to die when it became too much trouble.

Whenever you embraced the anger, because the sorrow was too overwhelming, you resented Neal for all his stupid choices. Keeping the painting, pulling those stunts on the aerial tramway, and baiting Kramer for months with constant near-misses that could’ve been avoided if he had just stopped breaking the law. It was such a simple solution. And you were angry. The last six months of your relationship had been rocky, because the anger wasn’t new, it wasn’t just because he had gone away. It was because he kept compromising himself, and his coworkers and friends by extension, and yourself by association.

Holding onto anger was never your forte when it came to Neal, though. Sooner or later, usually within a couple of days, you would see or hear or do something that would remind you of the man, and you’d be hit with a wall of all the good memories, all the things he did that made you feel pride and adoration and contentment. Then came the longing and loss, and finally, the blame. The blame that you had just failed to pin on Neal himself, so you embraced the bitterness instead.

Peter had one job and instead, he turned Neal loose. Gave him the green light to run. At least if Neal had gone with Kramer, there was the chance of a happy ending. There was a reasonable chance that, with the WCCD at his back, Kramer wouldn’t be able to keep Neal past the two years left on his original sentence, and when it was over he could have come home. Peter had ruined any chance of that, his silent gesture telling Neal that there was no alternative and that he had the approval of his family here. Most importantly, that nod was a goodbye, and acceptance, and an “I love you, so I’m letting you be free”. You’d never begrudged Neal his close relationship with Peter but you felt cheated that, on top of ruining any slight chance of your partner returning to you, he got to say goodbye while you were left blindsided and heartbroken.

The first time you resorted to bitterness to cope, it lasted several weeks. You avoided Peter and dodged his team. They were worried, and El reached out, but you politely assured her you were fine and just didn’t want to see any of them. She respected your wishes and must have told her husband because he, Diana, and Clinton all stopped trying to find you. Neal’s friends were like salt in your wounds, even the ones who hadn’t told him to go. It was too deep and too fresh to handle the reminders. Hell, you could still barely handle your own apartment. You really didn’t know how deeply in love you were until Neal was gone.

It took longer, but the bitterness and betrayal ran its course and became exhausting, as well. Finally, you cycled back into sadness and mourning, which took so much out of you but demanded so little. Roses made you cry because you thought of the roses Neal would give you. So did your favorite dress, which was only your favorite because it was his favorite, too. Tiny things that you could expect to encounter at least once every few days would make you feel hopeless. You were grieving, as if he had died. Knowing he was alive and well didn’t soothe the pain because the permanence of his decision to flee the authorities put him so out of your reach, he might as well have died.

Every run through the stages hurt a little bit less, wound up a little bit shorter. You were healing, you knew, but the ache in your heart persisted. Learning to function again, learning to be prosperous and content without him, was an option, no matter how impossible it seemed on some days. On those days, you weren’t sure you even wanted to. Neal had earned such a place in your life and in your heart, and even when the things he did made you see red, you still knew in both heart and mind that he loved you and was yours. Some little piece of you wanted to still be his, so that you could keep that connection, that last thing you had of him.

That little piece was such an asshole.

~~~ Cross the Ocean ~~~

A deep delve into your professional life helped keep you occupied so you didn’t think too hard. It wasn’t the healthiest way of processing a breakup, no matter how messy or devastating said breakup was. Still, it was better to be productive and helpful than to let yourself continue spiraling and cycling through destructive emotions and patterns. The summer passed agonizingly slowly but when you looked back, it was like the blink of an eye. Suddenly it had been a whole season since you had last seen Neal. The romantic side of you wanted to say that it hurt just as much as it had before, but… it didn’t.

You felt awful thinking it, and then awful for feeling awful for having a life after him. Neal was gone. He had no choice about leaving New York, but he did have a choice about how, and he chose the route that left no possibility of a reunion. Why the hell should you wait around for him, wishing you kept hurting for a man who clearly was more interested in his freedom than in recovering what you had together?

Going home the day you had that thought, you looked at the button for the 21st floor and for the first time in a long time, you actually thought about just poking your head in and seeing how Neal’s other friends were doing, and then you realized the anger was running out. You didn’t have the energy or the will to keep deliberately resenting Neal or Peter.

~~~ Cross the Ocean ~~~

By August, you could look back on everything and understand the decisions that were made. You didn’t agree with them, but you understood the desperation fueling them and the fear that Neal must have felt. The moment Neal’s handler, whoever that was, tied his hands and threw him aside, the man was as good as dead, just in a matter of time. Kramer wasn’t above that. If he were free – even just by flight – Neal could protect himself. You could forgive him for leaving, but you weren’t sure he was forgiven for leaving without even a phone call to you as he booked it to the airport.

Later that month, though, your personal grievances didn’t seem to matter all that much. A man approached you while you were at work. You thought he was the man you’d asked to come answer some questions, but no – you were the one being questioned. He was cynical, evasive, and exacting, and clearly after information on Neal.

As soon as he left, you went to the twenty-first floor and beelined for Peter’s office, ignoring the tentative, sympathetic greetings from familiar faces. Peter glanced up when you entered and then did a shocked double-take. It was the first time you had voluntarily approached him in months, after all.

Peter stood up so quickly his chair legs scraped loudly on the floor. “Y/N,” he said right away, but then obviously had no idea where he was trying to go, unable to figure out what to say. You could see the sympathy and sorrow on his face. Not only did you lose your partner, and Peter had lost his friend, but the other agent had encouraged your partner to leave. He knew from your avoidance that you blamed him, at least partially.

With a wave of your hand, you dismissed it. Nothing Peter could say would fix the situation. You knew what he had done was in Neal’s best interests, weighing his wellbeing over your feelings. Where Neal wasn’t forgiven, Peter was, finally, and the avoidance that remained was just about trying to distance yourself from reminders of your blue-eyed artist.

“Someone just came asking questions about Neal,” you said, crossing your arms and peering across the office at Peter. “Agent Collins. He said he’s just tying up loose ends, but he’s not, is he?”

Peter’s openmouthed surprise turned into a grim purse of his lips. He shook his head, looking frustrated, and gestured for you to close the door. You did, and leaned back against it. “He’s the bureau’s version of a bounty hunter,” the agent confided, putting his fists down on his desk and leaning onto it. “Neal was almost commutated, then slipped out under their noses. It makes them look bad. They want to get him back.”

You didn’t miss that Peter was using pronouns that excluded himself, but didn’t comment. It was no surprise – he’d made his stance clear when he encouraged Neal to go. “Why now?” You demanded. “It’s been months, surely the trail’s cold.”

“Best guess?” Peter hazarded, sighing deeply. “They’ve spent this time trying to find him other ways. Now they’re realizing that Neal’s better than they thought and all they want to do is make an example out of him.”

Oh, hell no. “Like they haven’t already?” You asked snidely. Peter tilted his head aside, not explicitly agreeing but getting his point across all the same.

The bureau had your trust – for the most part. When it came to their treatment of Neal, your eyes had been opened to how even organizations seeking justice could be completely unjust in their treatment of people who lacked recourse. Neal was frequently put in life-threatening situations with no training and no choice in the matter except to be put back in prison. Enough people knew Neal was working with the FBI for Sing Sing to be a life-threatening situation, in and of itself. Neal was nothing but a tool to them because he lacked the normal resources of walking away or pursuing litigation.

You looked aside, glowering at the drab office wall. “It gets worse,” Peter wearily told you. “Collins is looking for a win. And at this point, a dead fugitive is just as good of an example as an incarcerated one.”

“Not happening,” you refused furiously. “What the hell happened to proportionality?” Neal may have pissed some people off, Robin Hood-ing from the one percent, but he was never violent. Sending a bounty hunter after him with permission to kill was wildly inappropriate and inhumane.

“I’m afraid proportionality isn’t the first thing on the mind,” Peter warned as you stalked further into his office, toward his desk.

“We have to warn him,” you mumbled, more to yourself than to Peter. Neal was “run at any time” paranoid, not “stay away from windows” paranoid.

“Yes,” Peter nodded, “But we can’t. We don’t know where he is. There is no way of telling him.” The agent wasn’t giving up or resigning himself to being useless. As much as there was disappointment and worry in his face, there was also stubbornness.

“So we find him,” you quietly suggested. “No one knows him better than we do.”

“Y/N.” Peter dropped his voice to match your volume and spoke with a soft, concerned tone. “You have to understand, finding Neal and not turning him in, much less tipping him off about Collins, is outside the law.”

“The law is apparently saying it’s okay to murder a man who has, at worst, taken money that isn’t his.” You fervently stated. That wasn’t your first concern, Neal was, but you needed Peter to know that you weren’t just in this because you were in love with the man in question. There was a principle at stake, and a moral obligation. “The equivalent of chopping off a pickpocket’s hand, coming from the government that supposedly despises cruelty and injustice. I won’t support that, and I sure as hell won’t stand by and let it be done to someone I love.”

While you had been talking, Peter had slowly started to smile. It was the smile he used to always give to Neal when he was proud, when your boyfriend would remind him that Neal was a kind person with a good, loving soul. Having it directed at you reminded you far too much of the smile Neal always gave back and your chest tightened – not just at the memory, but at the decision which meant you were bound to see it again.

“I knew you were going to say that,” Peter admitted with a small, relieved grin, like the shared challenge and conspiracy were washing all the sourness and distance under the bridge. You really thought that maybe it was. His confidence in you and his commitment to your boyfriend reassured you that you weren’t losing your mind and you weren’t alone, no matter how lonely you’d been feeling. “I just need you to understand what you’re putting at stake.”

“Wherever he is, when we find him, I’m coming. No matter what.”

#lawmen and conmen #white collar #white collar x reader #reader insert #neal caffrey #neal caffrey x reader #fanfic #oneshot #cross the ocean #requested #angst #sad #breakup #tw: abandonment #grief

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ohifonlyx33 · 3 years

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Tori bless you for being the voice of reason for Max. It doesn't make sense to me the amount of hate he gets. With or without Zoey hes by far a VERY well rounded character who is very thoughtful and not even hateful. He honestly tries to think through situations. Anyway. Don't let zep hate get ya down ;) youve got a bunch that feel the same as you.

OH THANK YOU.

For some reason, the last episode brought out the Max haters and I can’t understand why, in a show that’s meant to teach us about empathy, so many seem to not be able to empathize with Max.

No, he’s not 100% perfect. That would be boring. That would be a one-dimensional love interest. I often feel like he’s already high-risk for becoming a one-dimensional love interest because of how much his story revolves around how he loves Zoey and bends over backwards to please her most of the time. But he’s not totally her puppet. He has his own life too. With his own story. And his own agency. His own emotions. His own reactions. And the best part about Max is that he’s aware of his shortcomings and tries to work on them. That’s literally all you can ask of someone. In fact, sometimes I get annoyed at Zoey (moreso than Max) because of her lack of self-awareness.

Zoey is the main character, but that doesn’t mean everyone else’s feelings should always bend to her will. Or that other people aren’t going through valid experiences. Which is the point of the show.

Max has the right to profess his love. Zoey has the right to ask him to stay her friend. Max has the right to ask for some space to come to terms with this. Zoey has the right to miss her best friend. Max has the right to feel hurt when she sings a second heartsong to Simon. Zoey has the right to be confused about her feelings.

cut to season 2. Max checks up on her, but without expectations. He gives her time. He’s thoughtful. He gets his friend a gift as a gesture. And Zoey chose him. He didn’t make her kiss him. She wanted to give it a try... If he did anything, he just made her want to kiss him by showing her gentle care and affection and even making her laugh.

I’m not saying jealousy is right persay, but it is a natural feeling. One which Max struggles with. And it’s understandable why he might be jealous... especially when Zoey mentioned talking to Simon about her dreams, but wouldn’t say much to Max. But Max still said he was working on being cool with it... That’s literally the best he can do in that situation. And he’s also working on dating a girl who can read his heart via the billboard charts.

Understandably, it’s also a bit much for Zoey to start a relationship while she’s grieving. Especially when her powers make things complicated between her and Max. And she’s dealing with everyone else’s emotional baggage on top of her own... that can’t be easy. But that doesn’t give Zoey the right to play with Max’s heart as a distraction... And that’s a big reason why she realized that dating at this time just wasn’t fair to him and wasn’t helpful to either of them.

On the other hand, Max is her best friend and loves her unconditionally and will be there for her no matter what IF she would talk about her feelings with him. Max has really asked very little of Zoey, other than to communicate her emotional needs to him and maybe listen to him talk about his business venture for 20 minutes. And if she can’t do that, she should probably not have taken the promotion at work either. And she should really consider grief counseling.

They both have a point of view here that’s interesting. You could almost villainize either one of them, but because you can empathize with both of them, you instead understand.

#zep #zoey's extraordinary playlist #zoey clarke #max richman #zoey x max #zomax #Anonymous #max richman defense squad

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andydona-chan · 3 years

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Realization

Ok, so this one has been sitting in my documents for some time because I didn’t know how to continue it... Until I re-read it and noticed I really don’t have to, you all know the endgame of this fanfics, and maybe I can get a better idea of how to make a second part with your precious feedback, cause I really need it, so from the old documents but for a lovely ship, I present this:

Read it at AO3

*****

Sherlock sat in silence on the bed at the hotel he was currently staying at, with the explosion at Baker Street he was virtually homeless at the moment, and honestly he was tired and he needed to sleep after what they had been through that day. However he couldn’t, or more likely, he wouldn’t. Sherlock just knew that the nightmares would make it impossible for him to rest, not only that, his ever working mind will still be running thoughts in his head, processing every detail and making conclusions about what had happened at Sherrinford.

He smiled sadly just remembering how John had offered his house, told him he could stay until Baker Street was restored, but he had instead told him that Mrs. Hudson needed it more than him, that she would be more grateful and she would be also willing to help him with Rosie while they worked on rebuilding his flat.

Mycroft had also offered his house, a really surprising gesture, and though Sherlock would have no trouble staying at his brother’s house, with all the space and rooms, he felt that he didn’t belong there; and as much as he wanted to just sit here trying to not think, it was also something he couldn’t leave for later

He needed to think about a lot of things, many of them concerning his sister and the things she had put him through that day without worrying that his brother would listen or record it. Good lord, he didn’t want him to worry anymore! So he had declined, warning his brother that if their parents were to know that they were both staying at the same house, they wouldn’t waste time waiting for an invitation and soon they’ll find themselves in a very awkward and difficult family reunion at his house.

Mycroft wasn’t ready yet to tell them what had happened to Eurus, and neither Sherlock; and though it was a matter of time that they started asking questions about the explosion at 221B, at least that way they could buy time until things had settled down into a more normal state, if they ever went back to normal

So, he took off his shoes, his coat and jacket and unbuttoned his t-shirt, climbing onto the bed and sitting in a lotus position with his head against the headboard Sherlock closed his eyes putting his hands together in front of him as he always did and entered his mind palace, this time not looking for information, but to sort the day’s events.

He recalled the day Moriarty’s video had paralyzed the entire city, his face in every screen saying ‘Did you miss me?’ By then he had already know that he wasn’t behind the event at all. In fact if he were to look at it properly, his mind had given him a lot of clues in that self-induced hallucination of the Victorian era. Even with his ghost present, Moriarty hadn’t been the real master mind behind it; it had been a woman, all along. And just as Eurus had proved, it had been for context, emotional context; something, he suspected, he could only provide given his tendency of sentimental attachment. Not that he thought it was wrong anymore, he had already started to see the benefits of it.

With an ever present sadness he remembered Mary, her case hadn’t even been connected to what had happened at all, her past had just caught up to her and that was it. However, to think that John had encountered Eurus at that time and had actually established communication with her was worrisome, because that meant Eurus had been free and watching them for too long. Time she had used to gather information, time he had lost glued to his phone and not paying enough attention to his best friend to notice what he was doing.

Then Mary had died and he had felt that loss more than he was willing to admit. And in between that he had also missed a lot of things, that part of himself that was grieving had pulled him into the numbing pleasures of the drugs, when he knew fully well that he could have faked it. He only had to convince John, and his best friend could be trusted to see but not to observe.

Oh, how sentiment could blind your mind! He had to admit that Mycroft had some points, caring too much was a disadvantage, but only because your mind focus on the thing you most care about than on the whole scene, and he had to remember that for his job he needed to look at everything, details were important, background was important. He had been seeing everything so blurred since John had shouted at him while still holding Mary’s dead body that night, it was like walking with a fishbowl full of water on his head.

He mentally slapped himself, a flash image of Molly doing so passing through his memory; he should have kept his mind clear. Sherlock sighed, opening his eyes to the darkened room; he was now slumped over the mattress, when had that happened? Maybe he was more tired than he had initially thought.

He adjusted himself until he was lying on his back, and once again reviewed his memories. He had to admit that his sister was so clever it was almost scary, almost. She had managed to come to his flat and pretend to be someone else, they had spent a whole night together, just walking and talking, some of the things they had talked about he couldn’t even remember, he had showed her so much about himself that it wasn’t a surprise that she had managed to trick him into her trap.

He had practically given away all his weaknesses without even noticing. Although he had to admit she had a lot to do with his lack of confidence when trying to make friends, or the way he treated them, and maybe, just maybe, if things had happened in a different way he could have treated people in a really different way. Women were usually more sentimental, more emotional, and Eurus had wanted to understand that, he was the most emotional of the three, and it was probably out of her female nature that his sister had tried to get his attention, to learn about it.

It wasn’t the best way, but then again the Holmes siblings mind worked like no other, especially hers. Eurus had asked him to choose someone to kill a man, and to be quite honest he had trouble choosing one. Mycroft wasn’t really one to do things himself, he always had done things through other people, still Sherlock had wanted to believe that he could do that to help him, he was wrong; but John, he could count on him, he had meant it when he had assured to Mycroft that John was family, although the last thing he wanted was to put another weight on his shoulders right now, even with what they had been through, and what he had learned thanks to him.

Talking about knowing what was good and what was wrong, it had also been a task when they had to choose a guilty man out of three brothers, their sense of justice was very similar, but the experiment had been clear for him then. Eurus had tested their reactions - especially his reactions to their reactions - to different emotions; in that first room they had to make a sacrifice and for that they had to show specific emotions fear, trust, courage and empathy. Taking from that, the second room had been about justice, their moral, resistance; intelligence and anger were tested there. In the third room…

Sherlock found himself unable to start with the things that had happened in that room, suddenly he had to sit up, his breathing was fast and he felt anger boiling in him, he was trembling.

With a jump he stood up and started pacing, trying to calm down, there had been something about that one test that he still couldn’t get over.

‘Damn it, Holmes, you are flesh and blood. You have feelings. You have ... you must have ... impulses.’

“Shut up!” he said out loud, as if to silence the voice inside his head. It was true that he had been in frequent communication with The Woman, what had happened between them had been interesting, but not lasting. There had been of course many emotions mixed up there that had actually thrown him out of his way, but it wasn’t something that currently affected him, and in his mind it was obvious that John would refer to her since she was the only one he had seen who had been able to pull his emotions - impulses - almost to the surface, however she wasn’t the only one, there was someone else, a woman who had always been able to see through him, to really see him.

Molly Hooper…

‘She’s out there... she likes you, and she’s alive. And do you have the faintest idea how lucky you are?’

But she had come near to not being alive… or so Eurus had wanted him to believe. Sherlock sighed loudly again while passing his hands through his hair, there were bruises on the skin of his hands, a reminder of what that experience had make him do, his hands had hurt afterwards, but he hadn’t had time to check, and he had hoped there wouldn’t be any evidence of it, but they were very visible by now. His own words as he deduced who the coffin in that room was for resonated in his head.

“Well, allowing for the entirely pointless courtesy of headroom, I’d say this coffin is intended for someone of about five foot four. Makes it more likely to be a woman.”

“Not a child?”

“A child’s coffin would be more expensive. This is in the lower price range, although still best available in that bracket.”

Of course it would be a cheap coffin, Molly would never buy something bigger or better, they had discussed it over on the phone one night, it had been silly actually, he was bored and wanted to know what her thoughts on that matter were, or what her choice would be given the case.

“A lonely night on Google” Not lonely if he considered who had actually talked to him about the subject, who else would he choose to talk about something like that?

“This is a practical and informed choice. Balance of probability suggests that this is for an unmarried woman distant from her close relatives. That much is suggested by the economy of choice. Acquainted with the process of death but unsentimental about the necessity of disposal. Also, the lining of the coffin…” Plain white but shiny, it’s feminine and delicate; something that a woman with simplicity on her mind would choose for herself if it was the last thing she would lie on.

“...Look at the coffin. Unmarried, practical about death, alone.”

Once again John’s voice broke into the scene reminding him of just how much an important matter this was. “Trust me, Sherlock: it’s gone before you know it. Before you know it.”

Letting his arms fall to his sides Sherlock had to admit defeat, he dropped himself heavily over the bed; his sister had really hit the nail on the head. ‘I don’t want it to end. Not like this’ the words appeared in his mind like they had done the night he had met Eurus, and just like then he erased them from the air in front of him, another sting of pain reminded him that John had gone through that reality. Molly Hooper meant a lot to him, so much more than anyone could really tell. She had helped him countless times, not only with experiments and autopsies, she had helped him fake his death, he had trusted her with his life, it was a secret, but it had been important at the time, she had done it, and she hadn’t asked anything in return.

He knew that she liked him, it was unmistakable, her body language, the invitations to go out for coffee, her smile… An image of her dressed up in a black dress a few Christmas ago made his stomach contract. He did not deserve her, how had she been able to forgive him after what he did that day, after what he had did more than once? It was something different that he had not really understood in the moment, his need to apologize and the guilt he had felt for making her feel that way, but she had left that behind and stayed firmly in her position as his friend, because whenever he went back to her she would be waiting for him

‘What do you need?’

Sherlock had noticed her attempts to move over him, to make a life, only to fail miserably, more than once because something he had said. He remembered Tom, that man she had gone with to John’s weeding, he had been her fiancé, someone she could’ve relied on, someone who could have make her happy, but she had called it off… Why? He wasn’t quite sure.

But he had made sure to show that he was grateful for the help she had lend him, she was an intelligent woman and her work with him had made things easier more times than he could remember. After Mary’s death Sherlock had needed to talk to someone, at first just to know how John was doing, and Molly had visited Baker Street with Rosie many times, sometimes to leave her with Mrs. Hudson, others to have some tea.

It was a few days after Mary’s video had arrived that he had talked to her about his plan, he had told her everything, and he had said that it was necessary to be real for John to pay attention. That day she had accepted, reluctantly, to help him, she had agreed to take and ambulance and the equipment to test him two weeks later, she had also promised that she would be very angry at him that day, she already was… He felt confusion at hearing it, why would she act that way right now? The plan still had some weeks to fully develop.

She worried too much it would seem, because she was lonely, and she was distant from her own family. It was clear now, she only had them, and of course she will worry about him, he was the man she loved! At that point he was the one putting his life in danger, he was the one dying! This time it wasn’t fake, she could keep that he was alive as a secret, but she couldn’t duel with a real death, (a fact he had known the day Mycroft had sent him to that 4 minute mission and why he had completely avoided telling her about) not another one so soon, and especially not after Mary…

Again Sherlock had to run his hands over his hair, this time his fingers pulling a little bit at it, he needed to react, the tiredness was pulling at him, he could feel his eyes dropping with sleep, but it wasn’t the time yet, so he needed to feel something real, pain would do for now. It occurred to him then that maybe Molly had been already really stressed about what was going on around her, with this family of hers that she didn’t know how to approach properly, she had been busy with Rosie, worried about John and working hard every day, and he had made her think about the state she was going to find him after his plan was complete, something she had also done professionally on a moving vehicle. Wow, that woman was so strong!

He had been at the hospital for at least two weeks before going back to Baker Street, and there she was again, still angry, busy and worried, but still there. She had been there through some episodes of withdrawal, his bad humor and his anxiety. And what had he given her in return? Nothing. It was suddenly obvious that a single ‘thank you’ and a kiss on the cheek were not enough anymore, not for someone who had done so much for him.

Suddenly it was clear why it was inconceivable that Molly Hooper would think that on the day of her death he would put her in that tiny cheap coffin! When Eurus plan had been revealed in that room he had known that this would hurt Molly, however in the midst of her life being in danger he thought it was best to have her heart broken than not beating at all.

It had been a surprise for him when she had asked him to say the words first, something unexpected given the circumstances. She had asked him to say it like he meant it. At first his mind had gone blank; he had to make sure he had heard her right, and then ask himself what he could do to make it sound like the truth, a part of him told him to just do it, she was in danger, if she wanted to hear him, he would say it, it was easy, or so he had thought when he asked her to do just that, but how? The answer hadn’t been difficult to find, really. They were friends that much was clear to him, and he truly loved his friends. The real shock came when he really thought about their kind of friendship, a flash of all the things they had shared through the years, the things she had done for him, the moments and experiences, the laughs and the discoveries made, the way it felt so natural to have a long a really entertained conversation with her, it wasn’t the kind of friendship he had with John, Wiggins or even with Irene, he had realized it then, because just as she had said it, it was true, he really did felt love for her, no need to fake it.

‘Also, your loss would break my heart…’

Something really out of character of Mycroft the moment he had said it, but very on point in this case, losing Molly Hooper would break him. Not only his life would be emptier, his job would lack something she could only provide, she would not only miss her silly jokes and colorful jumpers, her sharp mind and her dexterity at her job, his heart ached at the sole idea. Trust him to feel lonely if he didn’t have Molly Hooper in his life, because for some time now John had had a life apart from him, with Mary and now only with Rosie, and thought Mrs. Hudson was good company sometimes Sherlock found himself feeling lonely. In a way he was like Molly, unmarried, practical about death and alone, he rolled his eyes, they had so much in common.

That’s how he knew, because moments after the call had been disconnected and he had been unable to talk to her a bit more, he had actually pictured it. He saw it when taking the lid of the coffin, her name written in the plaque just above the very same words that she most wanted to hear from him, he placed it over the wooden box that would hold the body of this great woman…

He saw her, her deathly pale face, still so beautiful, her eyes, those warm brown eyes, closed forever to the world she had found fascinating, her lips, now lacking color and the smile he had always loved, her small delicate hands yet skillful in her profession, and strong when he had needed her help, his heart beating painfully for her while she laid there, now unable to know what he was feeling for her, the words carved on a plaque that she would never read, he could picture a single tear dripping down her cheek as the light closed over her - a tear fallen from his own eyes…

No. She deserved flowers, a nice chapel, a place full of people that loved her, a long and fulfilling life to be remembered for, a long speech about her a nice, big and comfortable looking coffin lined with silk and a big plaque with the words ‘She was loved infinitely, by family and friends, she was the one that mattered the most at the end’; and he would be standing beside her, probably sad, but happy to have been part of her life. No! And he had lost it then, his patience, his poker face, his self-control, all lost because he couldn’t let that happen, he would not burry Molly Hooper in that cheap bloody coffin! He will not lose her!

He was angry at Eurus for making him do that, now that he had already understood how much it affected him, hurting the people he loved; hurting John Watson had been awful, and knowing that he could have done more for Mary had hurt him too. It wasn’t fair that he had been manipulated to hurt the one person in this world - out of his own family - that loved him unconditionally and deserved so much more from him, because she thought he was better than that!

‘She taught me to be the man she already thought I was. Get yourself a piece of that.’

All those words, all those emotions, all the things in life she did not have, and all just because she loved him… He had never wanted to be the one to stop all those things for her; he would’ve liked for her to move on and have her life, and be loved and be happy! And what have he done? He had insulted her appearance more than once; he had told her of off her choices, he had actually suggested she stopped dating at all…

When had he fallen in love with her? Because his jealousy had no other justification, maybe he had told himself that he needed her, but what for? Just because that way she would have more free time, what was that about? Wasn’t she entitled to have her own time and entertainment? She had the right to have friends and spend time with them and have fun and met someone and have a real family. Why then, was he so stubborn about her? He supposed unconsciously he had always known, but it was easier to think it was for his benefit, that it was also fun for her and that she was spending time with him, her friend.

But she knew him more than anyone, even more than John himself! She had saved his life, had helped him and proved to be more reliable than anyone, she had helped him solve countless cases, and they had joked and laughed and talked about more things that he could remember. She had always been there, was it really so hard for him to be there for her? She wasn’t asking for much, apparently, his heart already belonged to her.

He knew what he was coming back to, after that, Molly was going to be angry and sad, and probably won’t be happy to work with him as she always did. But that would be because she thought he was pretending, faking it for a case as he had done with the drugs, or with Janine… How could he convince her? Sending her a message? No, it was easier to discard or delete without even reading it. What about a phone call? She was probably not going to answer or would block his number.

The problem now was that he had broken the trust between them more than once; she had no reason to believe him, not after how abruptly that last call had ended. His mind brought the picture of Eurus face at that moment, he had to admit that she seemed almost as shocked as John and Mycroft had been.

“All those complicated little emotions. I lost count.”

For a moment he wondered himself how many emotions had been showed during that phone call: confusion, fear, trust, desperation, pain, realization, courage, surprise, truth, anger, love…

He wondered how much John and Mycroft’s opinion of him had changed, it would be really difficult to look at them next time Molly or his feelings were part of the conversation, it was something else to expect in the coming days. But they didn’t matter right now, he needed to talk to her, explain things, and put an end to the endless feeling that something was missing, he needed to feel complete again. He huffed in sarcastic annoyance, it was a curious feeling, because she hadn’t gone anywhere, but that last conversation had cut the connection between them and he could barely tolerate it, he had to do something about it.

Working quickly to not waste any more time Sherlock put on his shoes, grabbed his coat and exited the room, maybe this wasn’t the best idea at the moment, it was really early in the morning and he hadn’t sleep one bit, but that had never really stopped him before…

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

I really don’t remember if I have already posted this, but since I couldn’t find it here I guess I didn’t... It’s only been checked for grammar with Word, so please forgive any mistakes, I really hope you enjoy it

#Sherlock #sherlockbbc #Sherlock fandom #Sherlock Holmes #Molly Hooper #sherlolly #sherlolly fanfiction #after season 4 #sherlock after sherrinford #sherlock's mindpalace

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kyberled · 2 years

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DRABBLE PROMPTS

@rcvival asked:

❰❰ DYING ❱❱ + REVERSE (IF I MUST DO THIS SO DO YOU FAJHSFJHAIFA)

Logic dictated Maul should have been dead a long time ago. He got cut in half by a lightsaber. He fell down a reactor shaft. He was living on the death trap that was Raxus for who knew how long. The prosthetics were a whole other issue. But he had survived. In spite of everything, he had survived. It was as though he had been confronted by Death itself and sent it running with its tail between its legs. Braig wasn’t entirely sure how he managed it.

In spite of his youth, Braig wasn’t as naive as people often thought. He’d been at war for a rather long time. He knew that anyone could die at any moment. As both an active combatant and a medic, he’d seen a lot of those deaths up close. But somewhere, along the way, part of him assumed that Maul wouldn’t go down so easily. Subconsciously, he thought maybe Maul wouldn’t go down at all. But again, this was war. And Braig knew war well.

War did not care how strong you were.

War did not care what you had overcome to get to where you stood.

War did not care how much you had suffered.

War did not care that you deserved so much better.

And that’s what he thinks, at first. Maul deserved better. He might have laughed, if the situation were different. ‘Maul deserved better’. How many people would have thought he was out of his mind for suggesting such a thing? But it was true. Maul had changed so much over the past few years. Braig had seen first hand that Maul was capable of kindness and empathy. He had witnessed Maul tired and beaten down and witnessed him as an unstoppable warrior.

And now he was witnessing Maul dying.

Maul was dying. And there is nothing Braig can do to stop it. Death is natural. It is part of the cycle of life and the Force. But he still feels lacking. That he should do something.

He kneels beside Maul and hesitates. Maul didn’t like to be touched. He never has. Certainly now, of all times, Braig did not want to disrespect his boundaries. And yet even as he hesitated, one of Maul’s hands grasped at his and held tight. It was almost bruising.

Almost.

The fact that he couldn’t quite seem to get there was a testament to Maul’s fading strength. He didn’t have much time left. His presence in the Force was being leeched away, slipping like water through the fingers of reality. The harder anyone tried to hold on, the more quickly it vanished. All the same, Braig holds Maul’s hand as tightly as Maul clings to him.

“It’s okay.” He says, even as his throat feels tight. He forces another breath in and out to calm himself. It works… Sort of. “I’ll be okay. You can rest now.” As much as he thought Maul deserved the chance to explore life, to learn that there was so much more than the pain he’d endured, Maul also deserved respite. At least this way, nobody could ever hurt him again. Perhaps he would find peace. Perhaps someone would be waiting for him. “The Force will welcome you. Just relax.” He wished it was so easy to follow his own advice. He did his best to keep his presence calm. To keep it as a guiding force into a peaceful slumber. He could grieve later.

He would grieve later.

For now, it was his duty to give this poor, broken, incredible man one last moment of kindness.

#rcvival #&& best foot forward; ic #&& as best i can; answers #&& brave new worlds; padawan #&& changing the course; braig and maul #ah yes. start break by hurting keats #:>

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grayson1996 · 3 years

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You Have to Let Me Go

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34210816

No. 1 All trussed up and still nowhere to go.

"You have to let go" | Barbed Wire |Bound

Unlike what most people assumed, the cave was not usually a quiet place.

How could it be, when each one of Bruce’s children would filter in and out throughout the day and night. To ask questions, to spar, to prepare for patrol. Each inhabitant of the manor came with their own soundtrack that when put together created a familiar and comforting symphony.

Damian was the sound of quiet purposeful footfalls, followed by the scurrying steps of a small animal trailing dutifully after him. He was small huffs of breath made out of annoyance or interest (or amusement if it was a good day). The metallic sound of a sword being drawn out of it’s sheath, followed by the dull thud of it striking one of the many wooden posts in the training area. When Damian first appeared at the Manor he had been like a ghost, gliding along and hiding in the corners of rooms and the sides of hallways. The League believed that their assassins should neither be seen nor heard. The sound was a relief to Bruce, an outward sign of his youngest growth.

Cassandra, like Damian, was taught to be silent. Deadly quiet. And to this day Bruce couldn’t hear her coming and was often spooked by her sudden appearance, much to her amusement. But she too had her own trills. The sound of the skin on her hands rubbing together as they signed to whoever was nearest to her. A breathy chuckle, usually in response to something done by Stephanie or Dick. The awful sound of knuckles cracking striking through the cave. Despite Alfred's reasoning that it would cause arthritis Cass wouldn’t stop and frankly Bruce thought the twitch that appeared above his surrogate Father’s eyes when it happened was hilarious.

Tim was the slurping of coffee, and the rumblings of an empty stomach. He was the quick typing of a keyboard, and the distracting tapping of his foot against the side of the computer console. People thought that Dick was the most fidgety of his children, but it was Tim. Though true that Dick enjoyed moving, his movement was always purposeful. While Tim’s seem to flick out of him sporadically and without much thought. Tim was also the most spatially unaware of his children, though whether that was from lack of grace or just sleep deprivation was anyone’s guess. It wasn’t uncommon to be alerted of his approach by the sound of something being knocked over or of a quiet curse being uttered after stubbing his toe on the stairs.

Jason perhaps contributed to the symphony of the cave the least, though thankfully his presence had become more and more common in the years since his resurrection. The sounds he made were purposeful and designed to annoy. The sound of chips being crunched by an open mouth during a mission report. A scoff at the end of an order or request. And on bad days the sound of arguing, of things being thrown and property being destroyed. But on softer days it was more comforting. The crinkle of a packet of cigarettes in his back pocket being smushed as he leaned against the computer console. Leather rubbing against leather as he crossed his arms. A quiet ‘thank you’ to Alfred after being handed a cup of tea. Or even a softly sarcastic ‘See ya old man’ if Bruce managed to get through an interaction without pissing him off.

All these sounds, these beautiful little noises that told Bruce his children were home, were safe. All of these sounds were gone from the cave. As he sat alone, staring blankly in front of him at the black computer screen. Half dressed in a torn and ripped Batsuit, his cowl and gloves having been discarded at some point. It was a space he hadn’t left for nearing three days much to his family's chagrin and thinly veiled concern. At the end of the first day he had locked them out, pushing back the familiar feeling of guilt as he did so.

He wasn’t sure if he was punishing himself. Perhaps he deserved this, deserved to be denied the comforting presence of his children, and deserved the oppressing quiet? Or perhaps he just didn’t have the energy to get up from this spot, to do anything. Perhaps it was easier to just sit here alone in the dark and quiet, because moving seemed impossible at the moment.

Usually when he sequestered himself away from any stimuli or love, he would be hounded by his thoughts. He would allow them to fester and devour his happiness, and drain him of anything resembling hope. He would allow himself to feel as awful as possible, because he deserved to tear himself up from the inside out.

Now however his thoughts were blank, deafened by the silence as though he were wearing noise cancelling headphones and his thoughts were the outside world. It was all blank, silent, there was nothing except him and his chair and the blank screen in front of him.

Then a warm hand gently placed itself on his shoulder.

“They’re worried about you.” Bruce let out a heavy sigh.

“I know.”

“I’m worried about you too.”

“I’m fine.” A snort of disbelief followed his statement.

“Clearly.”

“Why are you here?” The silence grew again and for a moment the hand began to retreat.

“I can go if you’d like?”

“NO!” Bruce spun around in his chair and reaching out he grabbed the tan hand and held it tightly in his grip. His son raised an eyebrow but did not retreat further.

“Alright I won’t.” Sitting down on the ground next to him, Dick’s gaze did not move from Bruce. “You look like shit.” Despite himself Bruce let out a huff of amusement, and felt warmth as Dick grinned back in triumph. “Seriously, take a shower B and get out of those clothes. You know Alfred’s upstairs dying to get you a proper meal.” Bruce shook his head, his grip tightening around Dick’s hand.”

“I can’t.”

“Sure you can, all you have to do is stand up and put one foot in front of the other.” Bruce shook his head again.

“I can’t leave you.” Dick let out a heavy breath, and his eyes softened at the admission.

“You can’t stay down here forever B.” Bruce felt his chest tighten and his gaze quickly flickered over to the med bay where the curtain was drawn.

“I’m not ready.”

“Bruce-”

“ I’m not ready.” His tone was stern and for a moment Dick’s eyes narrowed, much like they had when the two were younger and always at each other’s throats. When it was just the two of them and neither knew how to be a Father or a Son. But just as quickly Dick’s face smoothed over, changing into something kinder then pity. Empathy perhaps.

“Okay, you’re not ready. But at least let the others down here Bruce. Isolating yourself like this, keeping them locked out and grieving on their own? It’s not kind B, you should all be together.” There was truth in his son’s words but still Bruce couldn’t let himself get up and see his other children. Because to see them, to let them in and to acknowledge what had happened meant that it was over. It meant that Dick was dead, and all that remained was his body now being kept cool in the medbay so that it didn’t begin to decompose.

And if Dick was dead then what the hell did that mean for Bruce, for the rest of them?

Dick was the one to calm Damian down after yet another fight with Bruce. Dick had been the one to soften the boy, raise him even. Damian didn’t deserve to lose the man. Didn’t deserve to lose the kindest person in his life.

Dick was the one to pull Tim away from the computer screen when he was going on his 3rd night of no sleep. To pry his phone out of his brother's hand, and tuck the boy into bed. He was the only one who could get away with treating Tim like a child. He was the only one who could get away with showing Tim love, without the boy recoiling in uncomfortableness.

Dick was the one who brought Jason back. Maybe not back to life but to the family for sure. Dragging the man in after him for a family dinner, pushing Jason to the table and breaking the tension with a quip or bad joke.

Dick was the one who brought Cass to her first dance lesson, and encouraged Stephanie to get her Masters, and got Alfred to take a break and join them for movie nights.

Dick was the one who had given Bruce hope again. Dick was love, Dick was family, Dick was goodness and righteousness and fury and passion. And all of sudden he was gone, with little fanfare or reason. He was just…. gone.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this chum.” Dick shrugged his shoulders, a small smile on his face.

“You just do it Bruce. You just get up and move forward. It sucks and I’m sorry but sitting here alone is only going to make it worse… and it’s only going to make them resent you.” Bruce knew he didn’t deal with death well. It was obvious in the black eye Dick sported after Jason’s death, in his anger after Damian’s. His whole life was built around it, and while he loved what he and his family had created as Batman, part of him hated it as well.

“I’m not a man who can change Dick…. It’s not something I ever learned how to do.” The confession was quiet and Bruce felt uncomfortable by the unusual genuineness of his words. Dick chuckled and shook his head incredulously.

“Of course it takes me dying to finally get you to open up.” The words were said without any scorn but it still caused something heavy to settle in Bruce’s gut. Dick however continued. “You have to grieve Bruce, you can’t push this away and ignore it. You have to let yourself grieve, and you have to let the others do it to. And it will suck and it will be hard and some days you won’t want to say my name because you just can’t . And some days you’ll forget for a moment that I’m not gone, and you’ll go to call me or turn to talk to me and then you’ll remember. And it will hit you like a brick.” Dick smiled sadly at him. “And it will be especially hard because you have lost a lot of people in your life but you haven’t let yourself experience that loss”

“ I can’t do this Dick . I’ll break.” Dick shook his head.

“So you let yourself break. And then you do what anyone who has lost someone does, you put yourself back together.” Dick sat up from the ground and moved to kneel in front of Bruce. Placing both his hands on his Father’s knees. “I can be there for them Bruce you have to be, which means you have to let go. You have to let go of me and let yourself fall, and trust trust that you’ll be able to get back up again.”

Maybe it was because this was all happening in his mind. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation and lack of food and water. Maybe it was because looking at Dick all he could see was the little boy who over 20 years ago first taught him how to actively live life again. Maybe it was the knowledge that the same little boy was now lying several feet away, dead. Whatever it was Bruce knew that he needed to do things differently.

Jason’s death had felt like a punishment. Dick’s felt like a lesson.

“I’ll try Dick… I can’t promise that I’ll do it all right, but I’ll try.” Dick smiled and standing up he pulled Bruce into a deep hug. The arms seemed less real then they had before, but the warmth and love was obvious. “....I’m going to miss you Chum.” A small huff of amusement brushed the top of Bruce's head.

“I love you too B.”

#whumptober2021 #no.1 #you have to let go #batman #fic #dick grayson #bruce wayne

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darkpoisonouslove · 3 years

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Some Riven x Musa x Layla Headcanons

That Just Won’t Leave Me Alone

I accidentally developed the idea of this OT3 a while ago and the feels hit me today so I decided to write out some headcanons. They are not “explicitly” together by the end of it as I did it more in a way that would have been possible to portray on the show as well. But you can fill in the more overt parts for yourselves. ;)

- Layla and Riven stay up all night watching over Nabu’s grave after his funeral. They aren’t exactly sure why they do that, both of them hoping that it will all turn out to be a nightmare and he’ll come back but both of them knowing that that is a foolish hope to voice so they just stay behind after everyone else has left and spend the night there in silence.

- The two of them have several nights over the summer where they will just get together and drink themselves into a stupor. Neither of them wants to talk about it so the other is the perfect company in which to drown their sorrow. Musa is getting worried about them but once Tritannus happens, they stop their drinking routine because they need to have their heads in the game.

- That seems to have a negative effect, however, since they are both more irate and antsy after losing their grief outlet. Layla has her family to worry about now that Tritannus is threatening them all and Riven is worried about both Musa and Layla (and the other Winx but his focus is more on the two of them) because they are constantly exposed to danger. Layla doesn’t mind (unlike with Roy) because she knows what feelings Riven is putting into his protective actions. She would give anything to be able to protect her family and her planet as well as the rest of the universe from Tritannus and she can use his help as well as that of the rest of her friends.

- Musa makes them both playlists that reflect on their relationships with Nabu to help them get through it and show her support. She is dragged back into her own feelings of loss over her mother’s death and she understands how hard it is on them. It is hard on her, too, and she wants to help but talking just doesn’t feel like an option so she turns to music instead. Riven almost destroys the whole dorm room while listening to the playlist but it helps him get out his feelings. Layla cries herself to sleep for weeks on end while listening to the songs but they do have a therapeutic effect on her and make it a little easier to hold herself together when she is hit with a bout of grief over something little someone says or does that reminds her of Nabu.

- The three of them spar together whenever they have time. Winx are busy with the Sirenix Quest but Layla and Riven both get frantic if they have to spend a day without intense physical activity so they find the time to spar together even if it is in the middle of the night. Musa sticks with them, mostly to help bring them both down and ground them in a more peaceful atmosphere once they are done. They don’t hold back while sparring but neither of them has hurt the other seriously despite that and they all agree that those sessions are both productive and relaxing for them.

- The first time he meets Roy, Riven grabs him while no one is looking and threatens him to leave Layla alone until she has processed everything and grieved Nabu properly at the very least unless he wants to disappear forever. Layla told Riven about Roy being sent by her father to protect her and how it made her feel (she understands her father’s concerns but she hates being treated like she’s fragile and Roy’s apparent fascination with her doesn’t help). Roy backs off after that on the romantic front but still tries to get to know Layla - and Riven - and he actually starts finding his place in the group.

- Riven turns to Layla when he wants to write and compose a song for Musa to show his appreciation for everything she’s been doing for him and his support for her while she’s dealing with her own emotions. Her encouragement is invaluable to him and she keeps things from falling apart between him and Musa while he is busy working on his guitar skills and actually writing the song. Layla helps him a lot with the lyrics and melody of the song to the point where he asks her to play it with him. Layla is on the drums while Riven and Timmy play guitar and Layla sings with Riven (and Musa) during the chorus. It turns out that Roy also plays the drums and he and Layla find another thing they have in common on top of their love for surfing (and sports in general) and their similar fighting styles.

- The budding connection with Roy helps Layla a lot during the summer while she is dealing with the aftermath of Tritannus’ actions. Roy knows a lot about Andros and helps her come up with strategies to restore the realm back to how it was before Tritannus started his attempted reign of terror. Roy is being a lot more respectful towards her feelings on the losses she and the entire realm experienced now and the two of them make a great team. Layla feels comfortable spending time with him even outside of their formal responsibilities.

- Meanwhile, Musa is on Melody to help the planet adjust to the consequences of the cultural shock that the attack on the Singing Whales and the Pillar of Balance was. She also spends a lot of time at home just absorbing the atmosphere and trying to capture it into her music in case something happens to her childhood home. She didn’t feel it right to bring her mother back but she can’t bear the thought of losing all the memories their house is imbued with in case it gets destroyed so she attempts to weave them into her music, even using magic to ensure the success of that endeavor. Music is her safe place after the shocks of losing Nabu and trying to help Layla and Riven through their grief and trauma while also dealing with her own losses and the scars that the near ruination of her whole realm caused.

- Riven is on Zenith helping Tecna with whatever there is left on the planet to fix after the clash with Tritannus. Zenith is pretty organized and efficient so there isn’t that much to do but Riven is relieved to be with Tecna because she doesn’t insist on talking about his feelings and he has a lot of those. He is terrified of what almost happened to both Musa and Layla while he wasn’t there to help them and he resolves to train harder to be able to protect them and all the rest of his friends. He wouldn’t bear to see any one of them suffer any more, not to mention lose them. Tecna helps him strategize to improve his efficiency in battle and she is the perfect embodiment of Zenith after her wish for empathy. Her quiet but friendly presence is soothing for Riven while the whole planet seems to warm up. It is the perfect atmosphere for him to work through his feelings.

- Musa and Riven soon fall into their usual dynamic of misunderstandings and lack of communication when Musa needs his moral support but refuses to actually talk to him while Riven spends all his time training because to him it is more important to ensure that Musa will be safe and he will be able to protect her. Layla is sorting out her own emotions and even though she tries to be there for them and help them resolve things, she has her own issues and it is not her job to babysit them and their relationship. They have to figure it out for themselves while she does her best to support both of them.

- Layla has strong opinions on Nex when they meet since he reminds her a lot of the impression Riven left in her at first, only - a worse version. She decides to give him a chance anyway because getting closer to Riven actually revealed other sides to him but she only ever regards Nex as a potential friend. He isn’t quite as bad as she originally thought him to be but he also definitely isn’t someone that she would want to be in a relationship with. She is spending a lot of time with Roy and she really likes him but, ultimately, she knows that she isn’t crazy about him. Being with him is comfortable but she is deliberately not letting herself get attached to him too much and that very fact tells her that he isn’t the right one for her since if she really loved him, she would have allowed herself to do so fully like she does with all of her friends despite the constant risk of losing them that she faces every time they have to fight a threat of universal magnitude. She tells Roy it would be better not to see each other.

- Musa and Riven break-up because they both feel like they are holding on so tight to each other for the wrong reasons. They are terrified of losing the other but they aren’t doing such a great job of appreciating them exactly because of those fears. So they decide to separate - meaning absolutely no expectations and demands towards the other - and do some soul searching. Riven actually keeps in touch with Roy since they started getting along decently and he knows that Roy is now the most removed one from the group while he is also on Andros so he may have more up-to-date information on how Layla and Musa are doing than the media (he is not spying on them, just telling Riven things he’s heard on Andros). Riven wants to keep his distance from the friend group but still wants to know how they’re all doing and Roy occasionally has news on the rest as well from when they visit Andros.

- Musa and Layla both spend a lot of time on their home worlds whenever that is possible and there isn’t an ongoing crisis and try to process their emotions while navigating political matters. Musa loves spending time on Andros with Layla and helping her out with her duties as heiress to the throne and Layla (and the other Winx) accompanies Musa during all of her concerts when Musa signs a record label as a single artist since they all agree that the band is just for fun and coordinating it along with all their other responsibilities will be nearly impossible. Musa truly opens up her heart and pours it all out into her music and she becomes a rising star on top of coming to terms with who she has become during her journey. The songs (and all the dancing routines that the two of them come up with together) help Layla make her peace with her trauma - both over Nabu and that from her childhood - as well.

- Riven comes back and proves to have done a lot of work on himself and he feels ready to love Musa now - feelings which she reciprocates. The two decide to settle on Andros to be close to Layla and help her out with everything she needs. Riven actually rises to the head of Layla’s personal guard and Musa has tours all over the Magic Dimension so she’d be on the move a lot whether she’d live on Melody or on Andros. Riven worries about her when she is on tour and he can’t go with her while he’s busy protecting Layla but he’s personally trained the bodyguards he hired for Musa and he trusts her to take care of herself so he settles for only calling her several times a day when she’s away and watching her concerts live on his devices together with Layla whenever the two of them can’t be there to see the show in person.

- Layla does not feel ready to get married or even be in a relationship with anyone besides Musa and Riven but she does want kids, especially after she proudly becomes an aunt to several children with Stella and Bloom going ahead and becoming mothers soon after their weddings. She is also supposed to make sure that Andros has heirs to the throne so she decides to adopt. She talks to Daphne, who adopted children as well, and even Vanessa to learn about their experiences and ask for advice. She wants to adopt at least two children because she doesn’t want her kids to be lonely and wants them to have someone they can always count on. Along with her, Musa and Riven, of course.

- Both Musa and Riven have big reactions to the news. They are supportive of her, of course - heaven knows the high society and the officials of Andros have already busied themselves enough with being critical of her decision - but they also have their own feelings to handle. Musa has to deal with the knowledge that she will adore Layla’s children (as she does with Bloom and Stella’s) and she will worry about them. That is the reason she still hasn’t thought about about having children herself. Or rather, she has been doing her best to avoid it while spending some of the best days of her life with Bloom and Stella’s children. She is scared of leaving the children orphans if anything happens to her and/or Riven (and that is always a possibility in their line of work). She knows that the rest of Winx will take care of her children if something happens to her but she has been through the pain of losing a parent and she doesn’t want her own kids to go through the same even if she managed to move on and pick herself up after her mother’s death. It is still a thing she carries with her every day and she does not feel confident in raising children with the heightened risk for her life.

- Riven totally panics because he doesn’t know anything about children and he will have to interact with them and take care of them. Not just because of his job as the head of Layla’s security, but also because he wants to be there for her and help her raise the children since it wouldn’t be easy for her to do it as a single parent. So he does the only thing he can think of and actually goes to Sky and Brandon asking for advice and a crash course on things he needs to know to be of help to Layla.

- Riven also picks up audio books on parenting and him and Layla both listen to them while jogging together or traveling towards the venue of a royal event. Musa is about as enthusiastic about shopping for the kids as Stella is and she’s also ready to write lullabies specifically for them (in case they are at an age where they will listen to lullabies). They both do everything they can to help Layla prepare herself and learn how to do things right themselves because they want to be there for her and be a part of the process. And they are both enthusiastic about doing it.

- In fact, their enthusiasm rapidly turns into conversations about having kids themselves - which makes Layla (and the other Winx) ecstatic because she is looking forward to helping them out as well - and it isn’t that long before they decide to make that step in their relationship despite not being officially married. They also talk about adopting as well as having their own children because they want to give a home to a kid that needs it. So the three of them end up raising their kids together and the children all think of each other as siblings and stick together no matter what.

#winx club #winx layla #winx riven #winx musa #riven x musa x layla #ot3 #winx headcanons

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puckyess · 4 years

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I Hope Part 2 | Roman Ahcan & Brock Caufield

For the morning crowd: Get your tissues ready! I’m super happy with how this turned out. Let me know your favorite part. Listen to the Afterglow/Ghostin’ mashup for some extra sadness (linked on my blog). S/o to @penaltbox for getting this one going ❤️❤️

*Italics indicate flashbacks

*** FEEDBACK IS APPRECIATED***

Words: 10.1k

Part 1 // Part 3

“I forgive you, Ro, I really do. It’s the forgetting that’s the hard part. I can forgive, but I can’t forget”

Your words hung heavy in the air and he accepted them graciously. You had just basically rejected Roman, the least you could do now was offer him a place to crash for the night. While his apology had brought you some nice closure, you weren’t ready to jump into a relationship with him and at this point, you weren’t even sure you wanted to anymore. He definitely still had a hold on you, but that’s what scared you. He had just piled a lot on you and you needed some time to digest it all. Doing that with him a room away was not ideal, but you didn’t have the heart to throw him out, especially at this hour.

“Do you want to stay here tonight? It’s late, well early now. I don’t want you out this time of night” you asked him. It felt odd to ask him to stay in a non romantic way after everything.

“On the couch?” He shyly questions.

You crack a smile at his shyness, a contrast to the overconfident Ro you were used to getting. “Yes, on the couch, Ro”.

He agrees after some prodding and that’s how you find yourself digging through the drawer that used to be his, but is now someone else’s, for clothes for him to wear for the night.

He watches you and can’t help but stare at the back of your shirt. “We play for each other” written in the signature Wisconsin font. Who’s was it? Were you dating someone on the team? How had he missed that? He’d admittedly gone through your social media a lot lately and hadn’t detected anything unusual, just the regular back and forth chirping, no flirty interactions, but now he was going to have to go analyze the boys’ comments. Would they do that to him though?

He’s broken from his thoughts when you stand up and say, “These are Brock’s but they should fit, you guys are like close to the same size”. His eyes zoom in on the red 29 on the leg of the sweatpants in your hands.

“Of fucking course” he thinks to himself. He should’ve known Brock would weasel his way in the first chance he got. He tried to not let his irritation leak into his voice as he thanked you for Brock’s clothes and you pretended to not notice the way the muscle in his jaw twitched when you said Brock’s name. It was just like old times.

—

You laid in bed that night, unable to fall asleep. Tonight had brought up so many feelings and memories. You thought long and hard about the boy sleeping on your couch. From the first time you encountered his fiery temper, to your roller coaster of a time together, to the night that everything went to hell and the mess he left behind.

Living across from a quarter of the men’s hockey team was a blessing and a curse. They were constantly yelling and tonight was no exception, this time accompanied with incessant pounding on a door. You shouldn’t be nosy you kept telling yourself, but a little peek through your peephole wouldn’t hurt anything right? If only you had known how much he would come to change your life.

You peered out just in time to see the boy laying another beating on the door and then putting his whole body into yelling, ”Fuck!”, dropping his head back in defeat when his efforts were met with silence. He must be locked out. You take a deep breath and open your own door, propping yourself against the door frame. “I was going to invite you inside, but with a temper like that I don’t know that I should?” You tease him, sending a little smile his way to let him know you were only giving him a hard time.

That was the first time you had seen that smirk you love so much spread across his face. You would come to find out his name was Roman and he quickly became your person. Well, besides the other boy in your life who was your best friend.

The highs of your relationship with Roman were so high. You were borderline inseparable with each other. He did everything he was supposed to as a boyfriend, he was the type of guy that you’d proudly brag to your family about, the one your friends looked at and said “I wish”. He could be sweet and thoughtful, and had a spark to him that you adored, his temper the first time you met him, proof of that. He was that little rough around the edges kind of guy that every girl chased, a little mean to everyone but you. You were his soft spot and for a while, you couldn’t have written a better love story. In hindsight things were probably too perfect, you should’ve seen the storm that was brewing.

Between the friction between Brock and Roman and Roman’s wandering eyes, the lows could be pretty low. It was the same old fights every time, always starting and ending the same. Roman never acted on his insensitive behavior, but it still didn’t sit well with you. You tried not to play the jealous girlfriend part too often but sometimes it would just build and build until you snapped and then you both engaged in loud arguments, leaving a sinking feeling in your stomach, but Ro always managed to patch things up afterwards with flowers or warm baths that made you forget all about what had just transpired, at least until next time.

Roman’s jealousy would shine at moments too. He’d call you out saying, “You baby Brock too much” and that “You shouldn’t worry about someone you’re not dating as much as you do. He can handle himself, he’s a big boy” anytime you’d defend Brock, and then under his breath he’d mumble “He’s too soft already” and that drove you crazy. You’d frown at your boyfriend's lack of empathy and ill feelings toward one of the most important people in your life. You had heard some of the stories the boys would tell you and you knew he called Brock soft to his face and you hated it. You loved his temper, but not when it was directed toward your best friend. You had no idea why the boys hated each other so much. Part of the reason you were always so nice to Brock was to make up for your boyfriend's behavior, though if only you knew the half of what Roman said to Brock. You’d called Roman out on it multiple times and instead of apologizing, he’d say, “It’s not like it’s not true. You know it, I know it, and he knows it”. You of course can’t just sit around and leave B out to dry when he wasn’t even around to defend himself so cue another fight. The cycle was endless.

You had half expected Brock to come over and check in on you the night that Owen sent you that picture and your world had caved in on itself, but he had only sent you a simple text that said “I love you. You’ll get through this, I’ll help you”. And then he was at your door the next morning with coffee and a shoulder to cry on, ready to let you grieve and then when you were ready, to pick up all the pieces.

You finally fell asleep that night, not thinking about the boy who had torn you apart but instead about the one who had helped you to grow and become who you were today.

Roman laid on your couch, his mind going a mile a minute. You having a drawer full of Brock’s clothes answered his earlier question about the T-shirt. He hadn’t asked about it though, not wanting to start a fight. You always had a soft spot for the kid. It was one of the very few sore spots of your relationship.

How could he not hate Brock’s guts though? The kid had a huge stinking crush on you and you had no clue, you just continued to show him affection and give him your attention. He thought about all the times you’d go running to Brock after you two had gotten in an argument and he did know about all of them because Brock would waste no time in posting to his Snapchat. But never in a way where it could get turned on him for rubbing it in Roman’s face, it was always just enough so that Roman would know he was with his girl but if Ro dared to bring it up to you you’d take Brock’s side no matter what. You stuck up for Roman in every other situation and would fight a whole hockey team for him, but not when it came to Brock. He wasn’t blind, he knew that Brock could steal you without even trying, though he did credit the kid with trying.

He thought about all the times he had dangled the carrot over your head, practically telling you about Brock’s feelings for you and how you’d watch as Brock’s cheeks reddened and defend Brock and tell Roman to knock it off. He thought about the time that Brock had caused yet another fight by telling you about some locker room talk. That was the first time you had threatened to break up with him and damn it if that didn’t fuel his hatred for his teammate.

Roman sat in his stall, trying to get dressed for practice, but was unable to because all he could hear was Brock’s voice. Normally he could just block it out, but today he was talking to Alex about you and well, he just couldn’t have that. He was downright gushing as he happily told him about grabbing dinner with you at the Union the other night. He rolled his eyes as he bent down to tie his skates. It was time to remind Brock who you belonged to, who had won and who had lost. He begins to tell Tarek and Josh all about the activities that had taken place after your little dinner with Brock. He bragged maybe a little too loud about things you’d hate knowing he talks about in front of the boys, just to make sure Brock heard. Normally, Brock would sit back and take it. He knew that Roman messed with him to get a reaction out of him. But today he was degrading you in front of everyone and he wouldn’t allow that, so he speaks up on your behalf.

“No one wants to hear how quick you are in bed, Ahcan. She probably doesn’t appreciate it either”.

Roman’s face twisted into a smirk knowing he was about to hit him where it hurts. “Shut up, Caufield. We all know you wish you could please her like I do. 30 minutes or 30 seconds, it’s still more than you’ll ever get with her”.

The locker room falls silent and Brock bites his tongue so hard he tastes blood. The amount of disrespect Roman had just shown you made him sick. It takes all of his self control to not tackle Roman in the middle of the locker room. Luckily, his brother keeps him busy as he goes to lunge at Roman, himself. Brock has to throw an arm across his brother and shove him back to his stall. “Don’t”, he says, shooting him a dangerous look. “He’s not worth it. I’ll take care of it”. Cole’s fuming, as he aggressively grabs his stick that’s fallen to the floor in the hustle of things. “You better”, he says as he storms out of the locker room, shoulder checking Roman along the way.

He’d kept his mouth closed about all of Roman’s other taunting and bullshit, but this was unacceptable. He couldn’t let this slide. You deserved to know that your personal business was being spread out for all to hear in the locker room. So he grabbed his phone and sent you a quick text. “Your boy keeps running his mouth about all your bedroom activities in the locker room. Figured you should know.”

When you read the text your heart dropped. It was basically one of your worst nightmares. All of your business and most vulnerable moments on display for a bunch of guys who could pick you apart and look at you differently. You had trusted Roman enough to give yourself to him and this is how he respected you? You felt so many things, but betrayed and angry were at the top of the list. You were ready to lay into his ass when he got back from practice.

You let Roman have it the second he walked through the door. He brushes your feelings aside, as he’s more concerned with who told you.

“I knew that little shit would go running to you”

“It doesn’t matter who told me, but I’m glad they did! There’s two people in this relationship, not a whole locker room”

“Exactly, Y/N, there’s two people in a relationship, the key word being two, not three. Tell Brock to fuck off”

“God, that’s not even the point, Roman. It’s like I speak and you just don’t even listen!”

“How am I not listening? You just said there’s two people in the relationship and I agree with you, but Brock thinks he’s one of those two people and so yeah, maybe I had to remind him who gets to please you in bed and that’s not him”

“If you ever. Fuck and tell again, I swear to God Roman, you’ll be single. I’ll dump your ass so quick. No more kill stories in the locker room.”

While he knew your threat was probably hollow because of the darkness that had taken over your eyes ever since he mentioned pleasing you in bed, part of him should’ve known to never doubt you.

Brock had won that round, you had put Roman in his place rather than him putting Brock in his. He couldn’t stand the fact that you spent so much time with someone who he knew for a fact wanted you as much as he did, especially someone who was the polar opposite of Roman, himself. What if you woke up one day and wanted the sweet guy? Roman knew he wasn’t sweet. The gentle, always doing the right things guy? He tried to show that side of himself to you, but he was generally hard headed, feisty, and anything but just plain old nice. Brock already seemed to fill so many places in your life, he couldn’t let him take over the boyfriend role too. So he made sure Brock knew his place and he had been chastised by you more times than once for it. And apparently it hadn’t worked because it looks like he took his place anyway.

It made him question the night everything went down. Was Brock the one who had sent the picture? He doesn’t remember seeing him there, though he doesn’t remember a whole lot from that night besides the fight. Your look of hurt had stayed with him but he had someone else to go to during that time so he had put the little detail of how you had managed to get the picture in the first place to the back of his mind. Laying here on your couch now, it would make perfect sense for it to have been Brock. He had always had a nagging suspicion but never talked to you about that night.

—

The bye week couldn’t have come at a more perfect time. The boys had hit a rough patch, having lost three weekends in a row now and the tensions in the locker room were high. The combination of losing and Brock’s history with Roman made for a stressful past month.

Brock breathed a sigh of relief when he didn’t spot Roman anywhere in the bar. Some of the guys had decided to blow off some steam and reset for the upcoming weekend by going out tonight. He scanned the room once more making sure he didn’t see you, but since Roman wasn’t here he didn’t assume you would be either. Ever since you had started dating him, you barely went anywhere without each other much to his dismay. Yes, he had feelings for you but that didn’t change the fact that you were also his best friend. He missed you in more ways than one.

“Dude, she already said she wasn’t coming out tonight”, Ty said, nudging his teammate.

Brock replies instantly, “I don’t know who you’re talking about”. But he knows he’s been caught looking for you again. He doesn’t say anything about the fact that Ty had known who he was looking for without asking.

Owen shows up then with an arm full of beers and a handful of shots. Brock throws back a shot with barely a grimace. It was going to be one hell of a night.

Flash forward a few rounds and the boys are rolling. It had been a fun, easygoing night, exactly what everyone needed. That is until Brock turns his head and spots a certain someone a few tables over. His eyes narrow and he has to do a double take.

His jaw clenches and his hand that wasn’t holding his drink, balls up. He swears he sees red as he looks on at the scene playing out three tables over. He reaches over and grabs Owen’s arm so hard Owen says ow and swats his hand away.

“Please. Tell me that isn’t my Y/N’s Roman making out with that girl?” He says through gritted teeth. He can’t take his eyes away.

“There’s no way..” Owen trails off in disbelief. That was most definitely a girl straddling Roman, her tongue down his throat and that girl was no where close to being you.

The rest of the guys look over then at what has their teammates so dumbfounded and the same silence spreads across the group amidst all the noise of the bar. With ten pairs of eyes burning holes into their faces, the pair continues to make out in the corner, as if you weren’t at home waiting for your boyfriend to return to you.

Brock is livid. He slams his glass down so hard the liquid splashes out and he’s ready to rip Roman to shreds. How could he do that to you? Sure, he had always had an issue with Roman, how could he not? Roman had the girl he had been crushing on since the first day he met her and Roman had no problem rubbing that in his face any chance he got. But he did make you happy (most of the time) and that’s what mattered to Brock. This though? Throwing all of that away, your trust, happiness? It made Brock want to cave Roman’s face in. Nostrils flaring, he’s up and out of his seat.

Owen is quick to grab B’s arm and frantically looks to the other guys for help. Owen’s taller frame was no match for Brock’s 5’9 one when he was fired up and boy, was he fired up. Cole was in front of him then and shoving his older brother back in his seat.

“You can’t go fighting him right now. Not now, not here in the middle of a bar” Cole says, trying to talk some sense into his furious brother.

Brock was seething. “Who does he think he is? This is going to kill Y/N, I’m going to fucking kill him!”

O backs Cole up, “Your brother’s right, man. We all love Y/N, but you and I both know how she is when it comes to Roman. She won’t like that you threw the first punch”.

Brock’s shaking his head at that, he knows they’re right. You always gave Roman the benefit of the doubt and it really grinded Brock’s gears when you made exceptions for Roman. He took you for granted and didn’t appreciate you the way Brock knew he could.

“She probably wouldn’t believe me, just say I’ve always had it out for him. She’s not wrong but I can’t be the one to tell her about this”.

The boys all agree on this and finally Owen says, “Why don’t I just send her a picture? She can’t deny it if it’s right there in front of her, right?”

Brock finally agrees with a small nod. He hates that he can’t just knock Roman out right there. And he hates even more what this picture is going to do to you. He wishes you would’ve just picked him and you never would’ve had to deal with this pain. But you hadn’t, you had chosen the more exciting boy, with his flaring temper and charming smirk. You chose to pass over the cute, boy next door who was everything you needed but nothing you wanted.

—

You should have known that word would get out somehow that Roman had stopped by. The boys hockey team was worse than old women at tea time when it came to gossip.

You barely had time to register the neatly folded blanket and clothes on your couch before your door was swung open and a very pissed off and hurt looking Brock is storming through it, coffee in hand.

“Well good morning to you too. What’re you doing here so early?” You said in the middle of a yawn.

He shoots you an irritated look. “Early? It’s past noon, Y/N. Or is your long night with Roman screwing with your head again? I can’t believe he had the audactiy to show up here after everything.” The venom in the way he says Roman’s name has you rolling your eyes. Roman had been..civil about Brock last night. Though you noticed the way he tensed about the clothes, he hadn’t said anything. Brock was your rock, your level headed one and yet he was the one speaking out today.

“You do realize this is my apartment you’re standing in right? And my business? And my life?” You’re annoyed that he wants to have this argument again and right after you woke up. He was not catching you at a good time.

Brock had a hard time hearing it wasn’t his life. It was like his hands were pinned behind his back. Roman being back in your life very much affected his own because that would mean he’d lose you again and you were very much a big part of his life.

“Roman staying the night has nothing to do with you” you tell him, plopping yourself on the couch. You catch a glimpse of the hurt that flashes across Brock’s face, along with something else you couldn’t quite place as you reach for your coffee.

Brock felt like he had just been slapped in the face. He had always been there for you, that night and every night there after. He had finally gotten his best friend back and at times it felt like he could have more than that and now you were just brushing him off like his opinion meant nothing. It absolutely killed him that you couldn’t see how much this had to do with him. He was there for you, he’d always been there for you and yet he couldn’t be there for you in the way that he wanted to because you wouldn’t let him.

He wanted to shake you. “That’s where you’re wrong, Y/N. This has every bit to do with me. I was there when he broke you and I helped you pick up the pieces. I let you cry on my shoulder, sleep in my bed. Not just that night but so many times before that. Or do you not remember why ice cream is our thing now? Or all of the walks home we’ve had? And all of the games of pong we’ve played? I’ve put up with so much shit from him for you and I’m sick of seeing you get hurt over and over by the same guy when you deserve so much better than that”.

You weren’t insecure by any means, but everyone had their days and today just so happened to be yours. You had a long day at work and didn’t really want to go out to dinner with the guys, but you had already promised Roman and Brock that you’d be there.

You trailed behind Roman as he led you to the table. Brock immediately noticed that your smile was off as you leaned in to give him a quick hug, not wanting to set off your boyfriend. He gave you an extra squeeze and then released you. He noticed the little frown on your face when the waitress shamelessly flirted with Roman in front of you and Roman made no effort to stop her, even giving into her banter and eyelashes. Wanting to see you smile again, he gave you a little nudge and asked if you were getting the kids’ meal, poking fun at the fact that your ordered chicken fingers everywhere you went. You cracked a smile and playfully punched his arm and then got serious again to tell him that yes, you were in fact going to devour some chicken’s fingers, which he chuckled at.

However when it got around to being your turn to order, Roman spoke up for you. “She’ll just have a salad.” He says to the waitress and she shoots you a look that says she agrees with that being an appropriate selection for you. “Aren’t you trying to start that diet? That’s what you said when you were jumping into your jeans before we got here. Now’s a good time to start” he asks you rather loudly. Your face heats up, embarrassed, but you mumble a “yeah, I guess” and close your menu, handing it to the girl and then looking down at your hands in your lap. Brock is absolutely speechless and the rest of the table is equally uncomfortable. As much as he wanted to deck Roman, he wanted to wrap you up in his arms and tell you how perfect you were even more.

When you snap Brock later that night, you’re by yourself and your face is still in a frown. He knows he has to do something about it, so he asks if you want to go get ice cream with him. You snap back that you really shouldn’t and you’re biting your lip and it makes Brock throw his head back with a groan. Why did the universe hate him so much? He leaves you on open, but grabs his keys and ends up showing up at your door.

“B, what’re you doing here?” you question. Your hair is thrown up in a messy bun and you’re in a pair of sweats and a baggy Badgers hockey tshirt. You look so beautiful and natural, he has to really concentrate to remember what exactly he’s supposed to be doing.

“You said you wanted ice cream?” he said with a smile, as if it were obvious.

You smiled back. “I believe I said that I shouldn’t get ice cream”.

He wouldn’t be taking no for an answer tonight. “No, I think you said you should get ice cream. Go get your shoes or don’t, but we’re still going”.

You shake your head at your best friend, but take the couple steps backward to retrieve your shoes and coat and lock your door as you head off to ruin the diet you hadn’t started.

A short drive later, you find yourself standing at Dairy Queen’s counter debating over a cookie dough or oreo blizzard. “I’ll have a small cookie dough blizzard, please”, you finally decide.

Brock also orders and the cashier asks, “Are you guys together?”

“Yeah, we’re together” he answers and then looking over at you his eyes widen in alarm. “I mean no, we’re not together, well we’re together but not together together”, he stutters over his words.

You’re looking at him like he’s lost his mind, but you’re also laughing, “B, chill. She meant our orders.” and then looking at the annoyed cashier, “yes, to clarify, our orders are together”. Brock mumbles an apology, handing over some bills.

“Well that was fun”, Brock huffs as he brings over your tray. When he sets down a chicken tender basket in front of you, your heart swells.

“What’s this?”

He just shrugs. “Figured you might want your kids’ meal. That salad didn’t look very filling”.

You swear you could cry on the spot at how thoughtful he was. “You noticed that too huh?”

“I notice everything, Y/N”, he says, taking another bite of his blizzard.

“So how is this fair? My boyfriend is an ass to you and me both, yet you’re the one buying me ice cream. Shouldn’t I be buying this for you?”

“How is he an ass to me?” Brock asks you. You’re not wrong, but he’s surprised you’ve noticed.

You give him a sheepish look. “A couple of the boys told me about what Roman said at the bar after last week’s game.”

Brock knew what you were referring to even though you were being very vague with your words.

They had gotten shut out and everyone all around had just had an off night. They had gone to the bar to blow off some steam but Roman was still heated, he took a while to calm down. You were off playing pool with Brock and it irritated Roman to no end as he watched you laugh easily with the wannabe lover. Soon your game finished though and you headed to the restroom before rejoining your boyfriend and the group and Roman took advantage of his opportunity. He was jealous and angry and just feeling a little mean so he took a swing at Brock.

“Hey, Caufield, maybe you should spend less time at the pool table and more time on the ice. We would’ve won tonight if you would’ve hit any of the shots you took. You were like 0 for 20.”

Brock looked at him wondering where this was all coming from right now. “Yeah, it wasn’t my best night”, he admitted.

Roman snorts. “Even your best night wouldn’t be good enough. You should stop trying to be your brother, you’ll never be as good as him. The only reason you’re even on the team is because they wanted Cole here, so they tried to sweeten the deal by letting you play” he says pointing at Cole with his beer and then taking a swig.

The comment brings an onslaught of “Hey, hey, hey”, “I think you’ve had enough”, “That was unnecessary” and “You better fucking take that back” from all the guys at the table. Everyone knew Roman could be a real dick when he wanted to be, but that comment was taking it too far. Just then you returned to the table, seeing everyone’s faces you asked “Whoa, what’d I miss?”

“Nothing. As fun as this has been, I think I’m gonna head home” he said looking at Roman. You pouted, but you didn’t question it as you hugged him goodbye and told him to text you when he got home so you knew he was safe.

“By a couple of the guys, I'm sure you’re referring to my brother?” he chuckles.

“I didn’t say that”, you tell him, but the small smile you’re wearing tells all.

“Yeah, he was pretty fired up over that”, Brock says.

“As he should’ve been! Why didn’t you say anything that night? I was fucking pissed when I found out. That was completely uncalled for. I let him have it when I found out. We’ve barely spoken all week because I’m still mad at him. Probably why he was such a dick tonight” you say, ripping off another piece of a chicken tender.

Brock just shrugs. “I don’t know why I didn’t say anything that night. It’s not like it’s not true, nothing I haven’t heard before. I know I’ll never be as good as Cole.”

You frown at the boy sitting across from you and take his hand in yours. “You know none of what Roman said is true, right? Not one word. You’re playing hockey for a D1 school and not just any school, the college hockey capital, Brock. You have so much talent and skill, I promise you’re on the team because they need a reliable, dependable, versatile player like you. You’re such a valuable part of the team, B.”

He would probably cry if you weren’t in the middle of Dairy Queen. You said the words with such conviction and love that he believed every one. To think that you saw all of that in him meant the absolute world to him.

“Thank you, Y/N. I can’t tell you how much that means to me”, he tells you honestly.

You beam at him. “Of course, B.”

He smiles back at you. “And to answer your question, no offense, but I’m sure you’ll have the opportunity to buy me ice cream when Roman screws up again. It can be like our thing”.

---

You were at your breaking point as you pulled up Brock’s contact. There was a good chance he was already sleeping and wouldn’t answer, but you had no other options so you pressed call. He answered on the first ring.

“B, I really need you. Can you come get me please?”

Brock shot up in bed at the sound of your shaky voice. “Y/N? Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I- yeah, I’m fine. I’m just stranded. Roman and I got into this huge fight and he left and won’t answer my calls or texts. I’m sorry to bother you, I know you left hours ago, but Roman has my credit card and cash so I can’t even get an Uber… I could walk, but it’s kind of far”

“No” he just about yells into the phone. “Don’t you dare leave wherever you are by yourself. I’m coming. I’m leaving right now, just send me your location and stay on the phone with me so I know you’re ok, okay?”.

You do and he curses to himself. He couldn’t believe Roman left you stranded and drunk at a party in the middle of Madison. That was low, even for Roman.

“B, why do you sound so out of breath? Are you running?” you ask. You can hear his breathing through the phone and it sounds slightly labored.

“Are you calling me out of shape?” he jokes, “Yeah, I had a few beers tonight so I don’t want to take the chance of driving. We can walk home together. But I want to get to you as soon as I can so I’m jogging. I’m about a block away now, should see you in five or so minutes”.

You blink away your surprise, your hand clutching at your heart. You look up to the sky and thank whoever it was above for blessing you with Brock.

“How did I get so lucky to have a best friend like you?”

You don’t see him trip as you say “best friend”. It must’ve been a crack in the sidewalk, just like the one in his heart.

You knew going in that dating a basically famous college hockey player wasn’t going to be easy. You knew what you signed up for. Admittedly, most of the time Roman would make you forget about the outside world. He acted like any other boyfriend, spoiling you with love and affection. But there were times that the ugly side of what he does came to bite you and unfortunately he was the one to bring it up.

It was a Saturday night and the boys were having a party to celebrate the weekend’s sweep. Your night had been great until you had heard Roman’s comments. You were standing with a small group of girls gossiping about the one girl’s interest in Mike when you heard your boyfriend’s voice brag about the “hundreds of girls flooding his Dm’s after that game against Ohio State”.

“No way you have hundreds, there was barely anyone there at those games last weekend”. Tarek pointed out, trying to call his bluff.

“Okay, maybe not hundreds, but there’s a ton. I could literally have any girl I wanted. And they’re all like, really hot too.” He glanced to his left and saw you standing there, but you were turned, not paying him any attention so he continued, “Check out the rack on this one, pretty face to match too”.

Your heart sunk as you listened to the boys talk, one boy in particular really. You turned around just to make sure it was your boyfriend even though you’d know his voice anywhere. He was standing with a group of the guys, his profile to you, but he was only a handful of steps away. Close enough for you to see him holding out his phone to prove to Tarek that he had a bunch of Dm’s. You watched on as his thumb scrolled down the list until he found the girl he wanted to show off. You suddenly didn’t feel like being at the party anymore.

Brock was standing with Lex, Cole, Ryder, and Dylan when he first heard bits of the conversation going on in the group next to him. His temper flared as he realized it was Roman who was doing the bragging. If Roman even glanced to his left in the slightest, he would’ve seen you standing there, well within earshot. And then he watched as Roman did just that, looked right at you and still continued to show off. Brock too looked over at you, hoping by some miracle that you weren't hearing what was going on. But when his eyes fell on you, you were already staring at Roman and there was a pained expression on your features. His heart broke for you and he wished for the millionth time that he could show you what love really is. But he couldn’t so he settled for at least getting you out of that situation. He didn’t even bother saying anything to the boys as he removed himself from the group and walked over to you, placing himself right in between you and Roman.

“Can I steal you for a few? I could really use a kick ass pong partner” he asked, smirking at you. He knew you loved pong, it was one of the few drinking games you were actually good at.

You took one last look over the shoulder of Brock and saw your boyfriend pulling up yet another girl’s profile so you gave Brock a weak smile and followed him across the room to the pong table, far away from Roman.

It only took a few throws for your arms to be held over your head and your chirping to take over. You and Brock pretty much dominated, to the point that it would’ve been boring had you guys not been keeping each other entertained.

With one cup left, Brock looked at you, a confident smirk on his lips. “Are you ready for this trick shot, Y/N? I’ve been practicing.”

You grinned and nodded eagerly. “Show me what you’ve got, Caufield.”

Instead of overhand tossing the pong ball, he flicks his wrist underhand so that the ball bounces off the ceiling and arcs directly into the remaining cup.

His arms raise wide above his head and he backs up in a subtle celly. The smile on his face can only be described as cocky.

Your jaw is still on the floor, but you're screeching and launching yourself into his arms. He easily catches you, lifting you off of your feet and spinning you around.

The room is loud, still reacting to Brock’s trick shot, but you don’t hear any of it as he holds you close, still having not put you back on your feet. The smile on your face is bright when you tell him, “I can’t believe you just did that! I hope you know you just sealed your fate as my pong partner for life”.

---

“While I appreciate you doing all of that, and I really do, I couldn't have done it without you, I didn’t ask you to do any of that. Never did I ask you to come save me” you snapped at him, trying to defend yourself. And it was true, you had never once asked for Brock to come save you, he just did.

Hands running through his hair, tugging hard, that’s when Brock explodes. You were practically proving his point. “That’s the thing, Y/N, is you shouldn’t have to ask! It should just be normal for someone who cares about you to not hurt you over and over and to be there for you and help you get better when you’re hurting, not just turn their back on you with some other girl and then just show back up in your life when they decide they want you back. That’s not how it’s supposed to be.” He’s looking at you desperately, you were putting him in jail for something he didn’t even do.

You know he’s right. You know it with every bone in your body. Roman had done things that were far from loving and had conditioned you to think that that’s what love looked like. You had made exceptions for his behavior and built a tolerance for his actions. And that’s not how it was supposed to be. But you had also loved him and part of you still did and that was hard to just turn off and forget, you would know because you had tried.

“Brock, I loved him. You know that. What was I supposed to do? Things weren’t perfect, but I couldn’t just throw away what we had and pretend that I didn’t feel anything for him. I accepted him and his flaws because that's what love is.”

He hears every word of what you’re saying because he feels it too. He was living a parallel life, but with you. As much as he’s tried and wishes he could, he can’t just turn off his feelings for you and pretend they weren’t there. He accepted your flaws even if giving too much of yourself to others who didn’t deserve you was one of them. He wants to tell you that he could have shown you what loving hard instead of hard love is but he knows the time isn’t right for that confession yet. There’s still a lot left to be said.

“Well he threw it away for you and now you’re what? Just going to let him walk right back in again? You’re going to let him back in like usual? It’s not hard to see why he doesn’t take you seriously, if you don’t even take yourself seriously. You need to at least respect yourself, since he never does. You’re better than that, Y/N. We worked so hard-“ he corrects himself, “you worked so hard to be strong and build yourself back up...I’m just afraid he’ll break you again”.

His concern was well placed but the fact that he just assumes that you’d let Roman walk back in, even though you almost did and that he thought you’d break so easily was disappointing. “Well what am I supposed to do Brock? I’m not some D1 big time hockey player like you, I don’t just have this line waiting at my door to take me out like you guys do”

Brock’s voice catches in his throat as he almost lets out the secret he’s been keeping bottled up from you. But he panics and instead tells you, “you need to figure this out, Y/N because I can’t stand by and watch that happen again. And if you do decide that he’s the one you want and you’re willing to let him into your life again, I can’t promise to be there to put back the pieces this time.”

His statement makes your eyebrows shoot up.You don’t know that you’d still be here had Brock not been there for you, and as he pointed out not just this past time but so many times before. You can’t imagine having to go through another heartbreak, much less without having Brock at your side. Your heart’s racing at the thought of losing him. His statement surprises you and hits you like a ton of bricks. Why’d you have to break what you love so much?

“You’d leave me?” You quietly ask him, tears threatening to spill.

He sighs, shaking his head. Why was this so hard? “I’d never leave you,” he says swallowing hard, “but I can’t hurt like that again”.

The look on his face shatters your heart and you know you’re the one to blame.

You don’t miss that he’s talking about himself and you hate that you’ve caused him so much hurt over the years. You’d put him through more than one ever should and you’re hating yourself because this is the first time he’s admitting to you that it hurts him. Hurts him to see you with someone else, hurts him to always be the one to pick up the pieces, and hurts him that you might pick that someone over him again. You knew his feelings for you, you had for a while now. Cole had pulled you aside and told you as much and as if that wasn’t confirmation enough, you had accidentally overheard Brock say it himself, just not to you.

Brock had invited you over for a movie night, something you had done regularly with him in the months before you had started dating Roman. But ever since you started seeing Ro they had become less and less frequent until it got to the point where they ceased to exist all together. So he had finally reserved you for the night and had a whole night planned for you two to catch up. Or so he thought.

He was rushing around his dorm, trying to find his wallet and keys to go pick you up. He needed to hurry so that you guys weren’t late for your reservation. A new steak place had opened up downtown and though it was a little more fancy than your usual pizza dates, he knew you had been wanting to try it so he made the reservation.

“B if you’re five minutes late they’re not going to give your table away” Cole tells his brother, sensing his nerves.

“Yeah but if I’m five minutes late picking Y/N up, then we’re going to be 15 minutes late to the restaurant and then the table will be gone” he replies.

Cole shakes his head at how well Brock knows you. The boy had it bad. “Yeahhh you’re right. You better get a move on then.”

Brock huffs in response as he trips putting his other shoe on.

“Oh and good luck on your date” Cole calls as Brock heads out the door, lightly teasing him. Brock smiles but flips his little brother off as he shuts the door.

Not 20 minutes later, a very disappointed and frustrated Brock is slinking his way back through the door. Cole pauses the game he had been watching on the tv and turns toward Brock as he throws himself on the couch.

“She cancelled.” Brock mumbles into the cushion.

“What?!” Cole questions. He shouldn’t be surprised, he could probably guess as to the reason you cancelled but he couldn’t believe you’d do that to Brock and so last minute.

“S’fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” He said, face still pressed into the couch.

“It’s not fine, Brock! I get that you’re like in love with her but she doesn’t just get a pass. That was really shitty. Did she say why she cancelled?” He was fired up now, as Brock should’ve been but he would let you get away with murder.

He sighed as he pushed himself to a seated position and shrugged. “Said Roman had some kind of thing planned that he just told her about and she meant to text me about it but forgot. She felt bad”.

And just like that you were let off the hook, Cole could tell by the simple way he justified your actions by saying you felt bad. It didn’t erase the hurt that was in his face even if he tried to make his voice sound casual or the droop in his shoulders. It seems to be a more and more common thing lately and he doesn’t like it.

Turning the tv off he stands up. “Well let’s not let that dinner reservation go to waste. Steak sounds pretty good and you’re buying! ” he says and kicks Brock’s shoe to get him off the couch and back out the door.

As it turns out, Cole was right and they won’t give the table away if you're five minutes late. The steak was actually worth the reservation and it was nice to spend some one on one time with his brother. He knew nights like that wouldn’t last much longer. Brock seemed to be in less of a slump but Cole continued his care taking, telling Abby he’d call her tomorrow and catch her up on the Brock/Y/N saga to watch movies with his brother.

His phone rings in the middle of Grown Ups and Cole doesn’t even have to guess to know who it is. “You should just leave her hanging after she ditched you tonight” he says.

Brock shoots him a look and picks up on the second ring. “Y/N? Is everything ok?”

With the movie paused, Cole can hear the whole conversation, though he could’ve told Brock without having heard. It was the same old story. Roman promised one thing and then did another, leaving you upset and Brock comforting you. Of course he invited you over and offered to come and get you, already putting his shoes back on before even hanging up the phone.

“You deserve better than second best, Brock” he honestly tells his brother.

Brock looks at him then with a look of defeat and acceptance. “I’ll take what I can get.”

A short time later he returns with you in tow. You look sad, just as Brock had hours earlier when he walked through that same door, but without you. You give a tight lipped smile to Cole and then you’re following Brock to his bedroom where you’ll spend the night telling Brock about your boyfriend while wrapped in Brock’s arms and in Brock’s bed.

It breaks his heart that you’re crying again over him..Brock would never make you cry until your wedding day when he shed tears of his own and you wouldn’t be able to hold yours in because you always cry when other people do.

The next morning is when Cole decides to give you a reality check. You emerge from Brock’s bedroom in his T-shirt and Cole just raises an eyebrow at you. From an outsider’s point of view, you knew what it looked like. But it was Cole and this was unfortunately a rather regular occurrence. Nothing had happened, nothing would happen. “What?” You ask him as you reach into the cabinet and grab a mug. Their home was basically yours too, you spent so much time there.

“We’re gonna go grab something to eat before he drops me off, do you want to come with us?” You ask. Your offer however, is met with silence even though Cole is staring right at you.

“Dude what’s your problem today? Are you not speaking to me or what?” You question, growing irritated.

Cole thought the world of you, honestly. You had become a close friend but his brother was his favorite person and you were messing with his happiness so it was about time you were put in check.

“You know, one day he won’t be waiting around for you anymore. He’ll have his own girlfriend again and he won’t be able to play part time boyfriend when yours decides to be an asshole”.

He doesn’t specify who “he” is but you know he’s talking about Brock. And he doesn’t come out and say that Brock has feelings for you but “waiting around” sure makes it seem like maybe he does. You want him to just say it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” you say, looking down at the mug in your hands. Brock’s favorite you think to yourself.

Cole gives you a look and holds his hand out in front of him, gesturing up and down your body. “Come on, Y/N. Don’t give me that. Look at yourself right now. Where are you right now? Where do you spend your time, enough to know where the mugs are? Whose clothes are you wearing? Whose bed did you sleep in? Who was beside you? Who -“

“Okay, okay. Jeez, I get your point” you say, wincing, wanting to stop him there.

“Do you though? Because you let him get all the way to your place before you cancelled on him last night. You didn’t see the look that was on his face when he came back home. He’d been looking forward to this all week, Y/N. He’s been planning this all week. He never gets to see you anymore” Cole continues.

You grimace, knowing you did him dirty. “All week? I felt so bad -“

Cole cuts you off, not wanting to hear the excuse he’s heard a hundred times before “but Roman” is how it always starts.

“Yes. All week. He even made a reservation for you guys at that new steak place you’ve been wanting to go to. Hell the kid spent a half hour going through his closet and making me choose between shirts” he tells you.

Your heart sinks when you hear about all of his wasted efforts and the thought he had put into wanting to have a night with you.

“And you obviously didn’t feel too bad because you still called him when Roman bailed. You always call him, Y/N. Maybe you should think about the fact that he’s always the one you turn to when you need something, maybe he should just be the one. You can’t keep going back and forth between your two boyfriends though, it’s hurting Brock too much and I won’t let that happen anymore. He’s dealing with enough shit right now, he doesn’t need you hurting him too”.

His words sit heavy in your mind and never leave you. You can’t say how much of an impact they’ve had on your affection toward him since then but it definitely plays a part, maybe one larger than you realized.

—

Brock and Roman had been going at each other all day. Brock had started hanging around less and less so you were excited to be able to spend the whole evening together. The boys were having game night and then hitting the bar. Starting with the pregame Roman had been a pain. He was complaining about the whole night and how he didn’t want to share you. This meant he was extra clingy and barely let you out of sight. You really had wanted to see Brock, but he was in the apartment across the hall, the team having to split into two apartments since everyone was coming out tonight.

You pryed yourself from Roman and wandered to the next room, an easy smile spreading across your face as you found who you were looking for. You were instantly wrapped in a warm hug and he kept an arm over your shoulders as he talked close to your ear, trying to be heard over the shouting of the boys. “I saw you earlier and wanted to come say hi but didn’t want your boyfriend to get mad” he tried to play it off as joking but you could hear the slight bite to his words. He didn’t get to say much else as Roman came in and spotted your two heads bent together in the middle of the room. He made a not so light hearted comment about Brock stealing his girl and then all but dragged you back to the other room claiming you guys were up next for pong even though you still had to wait 15 minutes for the game to be finished.

And that’s how the night went with the two boys exchanging jabs and glares. Roman’s temper is short with you and even shorter for Brock. He’s been making stupid comments to you that he knows get on your nerves like “damn those jeans make your ass look good. Brock doesn’t her ass look good?” And “your shirt’s so low cut every guy in this bar has been staring at your tits, just ask Caufield.” and each time Brock also sends a look your way, one you read as pity and you become frustrated. There was a difference between him complimenting you and him making you feel like a piece of meat and tonight he was doing the latter. He was also dragging Brock into it which he knew you hated and so you became increasingly angry, more with yourself and Roman but after about the tenth time Brock looks over at you you take it out on him and just snap. “I don’t need the looks, ok Brock? I can take care of myself, you looking at me every time he opens his mouth isn’t making anything better”. You can’t quite read the look on his face before he just nods and says he’s going to head out for the night. You groan and guilt and more frustration flood your system. You know you have to go after him because it’s Brock after all. So after corralling a stupidly drunk Roman into his bed you head over to Brock’s to apologize.

The first thing you hear when you go to knock on his door is yelling. You don’t expect to hear anything given the time of night but with the quiet halls you can hear every word he’s shouting. “I just don’t get why she lets him treat her like that! She’s so strong and independent and then she just sits there while he spouts off his mouth the whole night. And she’s so beautiful like how can he even say the things he said tonight.”

He’s obviously talking about you, that much you can tell. You can’t hear what the other person is saying but you do hear what Brock is saying next. “ I just need her to give me one shot. That’s all I’m asking for is one shot to show her how much better I can be for her. Be to her. If I could just show her how much I love her and appreciate her the way she deserves… god why am I not good enough? I do everything I can for her, hell I’d do more if she let me. Do I have to act like an ass to get her attention? Because I’m pretty sure that’s the only thing I haven’t done yet”

You feel extremely guilty standing there in front of his door listening to something he doesn’t know you’re hearing, him pouring his heart out. But you’re frozen in place with his confession. You eventually get your act together and do what you went there to do in the first place, the whole time with your heart beating in your ears.

—

You had never let on that you knew how he felt. You had honestly thought that maybe his feelings for you would lessen until they disappeared since you had at the time still been very much in love with Roman. You hate to say it but you were often times wrapped up in your own drama that you pushed his feelings to the back of your mind but they were always there. With everything that he had told you that night, unknowingly and everything he was saying now, you could see it all in a new light.

Right now, with his cheeks flushed and his chest still heaving from anger and emotion it’s clear that those feelings are still very much present. He’s so worked up that you have to put a hand on his chest, something you often did with Roman, to calm him. Though unlike Roman, B instantly softens as soon as you touch him, practically melting under your hand.

“B, stop. It’s ok, I’m not getting back together with him. We talked and he apologized. It was nice closure, but that’s all it was for me, was closure. I can’t forget what he did. What you did to help me. You’re right, we did build me up and he’s not worth losing myself or you over. I don’t want to do this to you anymore, I don’t want to lose you” You can literally feel his heart skip a beat as you drop this information on him.

His mouth tries to form words but all he comes up with is “oh”. He’s surprised to say the least. “So what now? Is he going to go back to being an asshole to me about you?”

You frown. “Not if I have anything to say about it. I really am sorry you had so much to deal with because of me. So much stuff that I had no idea about. You did it so well, you’ve been so understanding, so good. If it were anybody else, they wouldn’t have lasted a day dealing with me and all of my baggage. But you, you’ve been the answer to all of my prayers”.

His heart catches at your words. Finally, finally he was getting some recognition for all the hell he had been through for you. He gives you a soft smile and a little shrug. “Wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. I’m glad you didn’t have to deal with it, honestly. Now that I don’t have to worry about you not listening to me about him it makes it all that much more worth it. You’re worth it”.

You roll your eyes but there’s a smile on your face as you say, “and I love you for that” and you don’t know what that little line does to him.

He has to look away when you say that even though he knows you can see the blush quickly taking over his cheeks and feel his heart hammer a little faster over it. It gives him a little courage to try and see if maybe he can get you to say those words to him again, but in the way that he’s been wanting all of these years.

“You’re gonna kill me, aren’t you?” He mumbles, running a hand over his face.

“What’s that supposed to me, Caufield?” You ask, tilting your head up so that your eyes can search his face.

A look of wonder is on his face as he says “You have no idea do you?”

Now it’s your turn for your heart to speed up as you do have an idea of what he might be about to tell you.

You don’t get the chance to hear what he has to say because you hear yelling from the hall and the voice that it belongs to is Owen. Both of your heads turn as he crashes through your door, breathless.

“Y/N have you seen Brock, I think we have a problem - oh shit, am I interrupting something?”

#Roman Ahcan #Brock Caufield #Cole Caufield #Owen Lindmark #Alex Turcotte #Ryder Donovan

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previouslynebraskan · 3 years

Text

Why humans are assholes

Hi, my pen name is Gwendolyn, and welcome to my TED talk on empathy

*side note, I suck at writing, and my train of thought is derailed frequently. So buckle up, and I’ll be surprised if you make it with me to the end, as we don’t know organization.

First off, I’ll disclaim something terrible about myself. I’m a Christian. Even worse. I’m a rosary rattler. A Catholic! Oh and you thought it couldn’t get worse? I’m not even a good one. God and I are only on speaking terms when I need him (which is pretty frequent, but not the point). Church feels like an obligation most weeks, and just because I know the rules and believe in the rules, doesn’t mean that I follow them.

Alrighty! Terrible things out of the way. Let’s begin. Humans are assholes. Most people, especially the population of Tumblr, will agree with me. Between human atrocities, selfishness, and down right lack of care, humans are just assholes. I am too. I am human. Ask my siblings. Like any good older sister, I wanted nothing to do with my siblings, and when forced to see them at school, I was unprecedently mean to them. Ask my husband. I am ridiculously selfish, and only do things when it suits me. And yet, there is an entire history of the human race, with worse individuals than myself. And a lot of people might see that, and think, cool, I feel better about myself, because I’m not Hitler. I feel better about myself because I wasn’t a member of the KKK. Well, personally, I don’t. The next disclaimer I am going to make about myself, I’m a self-diagnosed empath. I’ve never been to a therapist. I don’t currently have plans to either, but I’ll let God decide that path later. The reason I bring this up, and the reason I mentioned my religion at the beginning, is because I truly believe that if not for my first disclaimer, my second might not exist.

I am a crier. And I get annoyed at criers. But I don’t cry at reasonable things. No. I cry at other people’s feelings. Let’s bastardize the golden rule real quick. For those who are unaware, “Treat others how you want to be treated.” Now, I’m sure many people recall going through a phase where they could translate that in their still learning brains to “I can treat people however I want because I wouldn’t care if they were that way to me.” Now back to the golden rule. The bastardization is, put yourself in someone else’s shoes. How many of us got told this by their parents at a young age after not playing nicely with another kid? Apparently, God took it upon Himself to write that verse on my heart. And it went something like this: I cried when my mother told me that her grandmother (whom I had only met twice and had no actual recollection of) died. I was inconsolable when my grandfather died. So much so that even now, almost fifteen years later, it still stops me in my tracks, my heart hurts so much. I cried when Michael Jackson died. I didn’t really even like his music that much. I’ve cried at almost every movie I’ve ever seen. My sister’s speech at my wedding included the moment where she had to chaperone me on a date with my then boyfriend, and we went to Frozen. Now yes, I cried at the scene when her parents die in the shipwreck. But it gets worse. Elsa is out there, just ran away, no plans for shelter yet apparently, and she begins to break out into song. At first I’m fine. But then I can feel my heart, as she sings, “well now they know.” I start bawling my eyes out. And all I can give in response to my sister’s quizzical look of “What the fuck is wrong with you???” (Yes I cursed, I told you, not one of the good ones. Fuck off), was: “She’s just so happy!” I wouldn’t necessarily say I was sad at that time. But I could feel the relase that an animated character was expressing on the big screen. I could feel the weight come off of her shoulders, and I cried. I mourned for what she went through, but shed tears of joy that she had found peace. Tonight. I was watching Facebook videos instead of taking care of my nightly routine of getting ready for bed. And a Mengele twin told her story of survival. When she mentioned looking around for her father and older sisters, I felt that. When she said she could still see her mother’s outstreched arms, I could see that. When she mentioned the panic of trying to save her sister years after liberation, trying to find records of what was done to them, her rage and anger. And then her forgiveness. Do you know how strong someone has to be in order to forgive? To let go of the pain in your heart, knowing you’ll never get revenge. You’ll never get an answer. And you just let it go? That strength is super human. This week, as we pass the 20th anniversary of the tragedy of 9/11, my hometown did a wonderful commemoration. I cried. My aunt gave me a look of disgust because I was crying, again. I cried not only for those who lost their lives, but for their families who would never be whole, for the heroes who stepped up, then and now. I am a proud Navy wife. My husband is out sacrificing his time, so that I don’t have to. And so that I can worship my stupid religion that I cling to, so I can walk around saying inappropriate words and wear not enough clothing. But he made that choice. There are a lot who didn’t. Earlier this week, someone posted the transcription of the phone call of flight 93. The moment that he said that the passengers wanted to sacrifice their lives, for the sake of our country, I hurt. And then he asked the person on the other end of the line to pray. Another video this week, an ex soldier, who fought early on in Afghanistan was telling a story about one of his soldiers. They were getting ready for a raid that would likely kill them. His soldier asks, I know we signed up to fight, but why are we doing this? The man’s response was, for the people up in that tower who didn’t. He goes on to explain the story of a young mother. Two kids. Went to work like any other day, and her last attempt at human decency was to hold her skirt down as she jumped out of the burning tower, so the people below couldn’t see up her skirt.

Crpl. Page was a Marine from my state who just passed away. He was two years younger than me. I never knew him. But I grieve for his family and friends.

See the worst part about being an empath in a world where human’s are assholes, is there’s never a shortage of people’s feelings to feel. I’ve been told that you can experience an emotion so strongly that your body’s only reaction to the volume of what it feels is to cry. And that resonates with me. I feel joy to such an extreme when I’m with my family, celebrating time together. I feel the sorrow of people missing loved ones, and their hearts breaking. And there are times when I wonder if it’s a gift? Or if it’s a curse. It’s a gift to be able to go to someone and say, I can feel for you and your situation. I don’t feel sorry for you. I feel your pain as though it were my own. But it’s a curse to feel the attrocities of humanity and just sit and wonder why it had to happen. Why it had to come to this. I got told I was crying for attention. I wasn’t, but that didn’t matter. Supposedly, behavioral psychology could “fix me” if I wanted it. I could be trained to control my emotions, and process them in a way that wasn’t so consuming. It would definetly help my self diagnosed depression. But let’s posit that God made me this way for a reason. He gave me this gift with a purpose in mind. What then? The problem is, I don’t know how to effectively use it without letting it ruin my life. I can never be a therapist, because I would be able to take on the feelings of my clients. And while I do very much believe in tough love, I also belive that if you just have the right push in the right direction, great changes can be made. Would the Holocaust have happened if Hitler had better relationship with his mother? (this is a personal piece, I am reflecting on history classes I haven’t taken since high school. I’m not fact checking this. Don’t at me.) Would Columine have taken place if those kids had been in a better place mentally?

You know what the awful thing is...? Look at all of these events. Look at all of these heart wrenching dates in history. And then look what came out of them. Out of 9/11 came one of the most unified fronts America has had in a long time. Out of World War II came men of valor. A chemical reaction occurs when you take an object, and force it to experience a high degree of change. And that is what gives us assholes grit. Our experiences make us tougher, and make us better. And maybe less of a crybaby in my case. Or more of a cyborg who doesn’t experience emotion for fear of being consumed by them.

Ramble is over. For those of you who persisted and tried to keep up, good job and I’m sorry. For those who didn’t, don’t worry, I wouldn’t blame you.

Some effort is better than none at all, and if all you are capable of is existing today, then I hope you do, and I know you will do it beautifully.

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generallynerdy · 3 years

Text

Maybe it does all add up to a single hush (Kanan Jarrus/Cal Kestis)

Summary: 15 years after the Fall, 10 years after the death of Caleb Dume, Kanan Jarrus and Cal Kestis find each other again.

Warnings: Jedi: Fallen Order Spoilers, Implied/Referenced Character Death, cursing, brief suicidal ideation/thoughts Word Count: 5,143

Author’s Note: the effort I had to put in not to make this another series...I had to stage an intervention for myself. Anyway, I love Cal and Kanan’s dynamic, whether as partners or as friends, and an Idea struck me that wouldn’t leave. Also, idk how old most people think Cal was when the war ended based on JFO clips, but I always just kind of went with him being the same age as Kanan at the end of the war bc I love them and I need them to know each other. The title is from the poem “So They Say— They Finally Nailed— The Proton’s Size— & Hope— Dies—” by Rosebud Ben-Oni.

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When the hard part is over, Cal returns to Bracca, his new lightsaber tucked under Cere’s old robe that still smells like the Temple, with the intention of burning Prauf’s body.

Caleb still had his own robe. He kept it in the deepest part of their shared closet, bringing it out only on the worst days. If Prauf saw it, he never mentioned it, and both boys were grateful for it. There was a lot he didn’t mention.

Cal thinks, sometimes, that Prauf knew who they were before. After all, it’s hard to look at two abandoned kids in the wake of the Clone Wars that can survive being riggers and not think of the thousands of Jedi younglings that died on Empire Day. It’s even harder to ignore two lightsabers and one ratty, brown robe.

Maybe Prauf wasn’t sure.

But he had to be, on that last day, when they found that fighter. When Cal caught him with the Force. He knew then, maybe before. But he still took care of them.

Maybe he knew when the Empire showed up, when Caleb heard the roar of a TIE Fighter and looked instantly to the redheaded boy beside him like he was about to die before his eyes. Maybe that was the moment he put it all together. Or was it his last moment? When the world began to go dark and both Cal and Caleb lashed out in fury at his killers with matching, bright blue blades—did he know? Did he know that he died for the children of an already dying Order?

Standing over the bonfire, Cal holds the Holocron in shaky hands.

Did Prauf know his sacrifice would save the life of every child just like them?

Cal moves away from the flames to the gap in the ground that they’d held Caleb over, his calloused hands clawing at the Ninth Sister, who clutched his throat.

Deep in Cal’s heart, he knows half the reason he beat her was for his best friend. He’d almost given in to rage but stopped himself at the memory of him. Revenge is not the way of the Jedi. But justice is. And so is survival, these days.

Caleb’s lightsaber fell long before he did. When he did fall, he went screaming bloody murder, the noise echoing in the silence that rang in Cal’s ears.

Standing at the edge now, Cal almost considers simply...stepping off.

He can survive it. He has before. And what’s to say that Caleb isn’t waiting at the bottom?

Caleb...used to like animals, he remembers. He preferred them to plants, which are unreadable if you don’t have practise with them. Animals, like people, are complex but tell you in simple terms what they want and what they don’t want. Cal has always been better with plants. They’re simple, grounding, natural. Caleb used to tease him for it.

The only plant he ever managed to grow on this place was a seedling in a boot filled with dirt he kept in their room. It had been making good progress in their last weeks, enough that he’d actually felt some semblance of hope.

And then...and then he’d lost everything. Again.

The Holocron burns in his hand, reminding him that there is more in store for him than an endless chasm. Hundreds of thousands of Force-sensitive children are depending on him now, him and the Mantis crew.

Cal lets out a shaky breath. “I couldn’t save you,” he whispers to the wind. “But maybe I can save them.”

On the way back to the Mantis, he turns around to go find the robe and the plant in its boot. The robe smells like blaster fire and the plant is wilting but both are comforting: one because it’s familiar and the other because it’s not quite gone yet.

Kanan changes his name.

It doesn’t feel right, hearing his given name from anyone that isn’t Cal or Prauf. The first and only time it happens, nausea sinks in and he quickly makes the change.

Some days, he wants to go back to Bracca. Some part of him still hopes Cal survived the Inquisitors, that he’s waiting for him back at what used to be home, but the logical part of him knows that he’s not. Kanan surviving was a miracle, a fluke, and those don’t happen twice. Sometimes he wishes it had never happened at all.

He managed to save his lightsaber, as broken to bits as it was. It and the necklace Cal gave him are all he has now.

Kanan doesn’t let himself grieve, as much as he knows he needs to. He hardly did it before, on Bracca, but now he won’t allow even a tear. Surviving is the only thing on his mind, though for what he doesn’t know.

When he almost loses that little piece of metal on a string, though, he breaks down sobbing.

It’s the stupidest thing, really. All those lessons on attachment are lost on him now, as he cries over the rusted symbol of the Jedi Order on a piece of scrap metal that Cal had put on a cord for him. He keeps it close to his heart, hanging off his neck every hour of every day if he can help it, and getting that close to losing it is the last straw.

He knows now, why he’s surviving. Because Cal would want him to.

Meeting Hera is a relief. She’s kind but curious, which is more of a bane than it should be.

(Painfully, he’s reminded of himself as a youngling. His Master always said his frequent questions were what drew her to him.)

She’s the first to know about his past, both as a Jedi and a rigger on Bracca. He doesn’t think to mention Caleb, doesn’t think it would matter to anyone, not until after a mission gone bad.

Hera is putting bacta on his wounds and graciously ignoring his constant wincing when she sees it.

She points to the cord after examining what hangs on it for a minute. “For someone who’s trying to be discreet, you wear a lot of Jedi stuff.”

Kanan snorts. “Yeah, well, I won’t get rid of this one.”

“It’s important to you,” she points out. “Can I ask why?”

He hesitates, swallowing roughly. “My best friend gave it to me...on Bracca, befo-before the Inquisitors caught up to us,” he admits. “He didn’t make it.”

Her eyes are full of empathy, something she never lacks. “What was his name?”

“Cal,” he says, voice quiet. “Cal Kestis.”

“If you remember his name,” she promises, “he’ll always be with you.”

It’s not so much a Twi’lek belief as it is her own but it reminds Kanan of Grey more than anyone else. His buir. The clones subscribed to many Mandalorian beliefs, including the echoing of remembrances for the dead. Before the abrupt end of the war, little Caleb used to say his every morning with his Master and buir.

So, he decides to start again. It’s difficult, at first, to even get through the first names, his oldest names.

“Depa Billaba,” he says through tears in the quiet of pre-dawn, “Grey, Styles, Prauf...”

He stops.

It’s hard to think, even harder to say, but he knows he needs to. He needs to tell himself the truth, needs to accept the truth.

“Cal—”

He sobs, shaky and painful. His throat burns just like it did when he fell down the chasm on Bracca, screaming his head off, part out of fear for himself but mostly for fear of what was happening to Cal above him. It hurts to speak it into the world, into the Force and those marching on. Cal is among them now, he knows. He just...has to admit it.

“Cal Kestis,” he finally says, the admission wobbly and half-hearted.

He never loses the necklace again.

They’ve finally settled on Bogano, after wiping every trace of it from Imperial data servers. The Holocron is safely locked away in the Vault, guarded by their crew and the Binog, fondly called ‘the big guy,’ mostly by fault of Greez.

Though mostly self-sufficient, occasionally some of them will leave the planet for supplies they can’t make themselves. While off on supply runs, well, they can’t help it if some Imperials just look like easy pickings. Apparently, slavers get the same treatment because Merrin ends up a figure in some sort of oral tradition of a Tatooine family, which Cal finds hilarious. Cere is not so amused and grounds them—literally, in that they can’t leave Bogano—for over a month.

Cal spends most of it repairing old platforms and ziplines, not to mention entertaining the Boglings.

They’re fond of him, for some reason, and BD-1, who loves to run around with them while Cal works. One in particular, named Rabid by Merrin after she stole her entire plate of food, is especially loveable.

Cal snickers as he pulls Rabid off his shoulder. “I have to finish this, then I can play.”

Rabid is not pleased with his answer, nibbling at his trousers.

“Rabid,” he chides, ignoring her in favour of his work. He laughs again. “I used to know somebody who would’ve loved you, annoying as you are.”

BD, who has taken Rabid’s place, beeps curiously.

Cal’s face falls a little. He pauses in his work. “Oh. I guess I’ve never told you about Caleb, huh?”

The little droid shakes his head.

Cal never intended to talk about Caleb to anyone, really, but it all comes pouring out. He tells BD and Rabid all about his old best friend, his confidant. The story is a long one, reaching from the creche all the way to Bracca and its bitter end. By the time he’s finished, his voice is quiet and hesitant, his grief echoing through.

Rabid curls up in his lap, nudging his hand, while BD sits in front of them, tilting his head.

A little light on the side of his scope says that he’s recording. He does that a lot, Cal knows, for prosperity, just like he was programmed to. Cal doesn’t mind, really.

When he finishes, BD gets his attention by chirping.

“Huh? You have something to show me?”

BD’s projector whirrs to life and a blue image appears. It’s Cordova, again, but not a video this time. It’s only a holo, of him and another Jedi—Master Jocasta Nu, Cal realises. Master Cordova is dead asleep on her shoulder and she’s leaned over to kiss his brow.

“Oh,” Cal breathes out, something jarring in his chest.

BD-1 thinks that he and Caleb were—well, were like that.

“I—” he pauses. “I dunno, buddy. I never asked him if...but I think…”

Well. It’d be a stretch to say Cal loved him, but he certainly cared for him more than he ever did anyone else. When they were thirteen and stupid, he might’ve said he had a crush on him. After the Fall, on Bracca, he just...didn't think of it. Caleb was all he had and he clung but he never...thought about what it was, thought about what they were.

It hurts to think of now, all that he missed.

“I don’t know if I did,” Cal tells BD quietly. “But I think I- I think I could have.”

BD asks about Caleb a lot, after that. Maybe he can tell that talking about him makes Cal happy. The others know about the one he lost but they don’t ask. They all have their demons and Cal’s are just...just too great to pile on another person. BD, though, is a little easier. All he wants is to see Cal smile again.

“What’s this?”

Kanan doesn’t think to look up at whatever Ezra—the newest addition to the Ghost crew—has swiped from him, until he notices a weight missing from his neck. His head snaps up to where a cord hangs from Ezra’s hand.

“Give that back,” Kanan growls, not meaning to be so aggressive.

Ezra’s eyes widen. He holds it out immediately, dropping it into Kanan’s open hand. “Sorry,” he mutters, watching curiously as Kanan puts it back on.

Almost by instinct, Kanan tucks the piece of scrap metal back under his shirt and breathes out a sigh of relief. He goes back to his datapad. Then, a moment later, when he notices the entire room is still silent, he looks up. Sabine and Zeb have joined Ezra in staring incredulously.

“What?” Kanan asks, his voice back to normal.

“I’ve never seen you that mad before,” Sabine admits with a half-shrug, though her eyes betray her concern.

Zeb nods, arms crossed. “And I’ve never seen you without that thing on your neck.”

“Yeah, you even sleep with it!” Ezra adds. “What’s up with that?”

“I—” He goes to make an excuse but stops, his hand fidgeting with the necklace.

“You don’t have to…” Sabine starts to say, but he shakes his head.

He sighs. To be honest, he’s surprised Zeb and Sabine haven’t asked before. “My best friend gave it to me.”

Ezra immediately sits down across from him, eyes wide. “Another Jedi?”

Admittedly, the kid is a lot like he used to be: always asking questions, always pushing. It’s going to get him in trouble someday but for now, it just gets him more stories out of Kanan, stories about the Jedi.

“Yeah. Yeah, another Padawan. We grew up in the Temple together.” He smiles, a fickle and fleeting thing. “He was picked by a Master before me, so we were separated...at the end. But I found him again, on the planet he was last assigned. He gave me this.”

Ezra’s face is bright, curious. Sabine, on the other hand, looks prepared for a gut-punch.

“What happened to him?” she asks quietly.

Kanan exhales sharply, ruefully. “Inquisitors. After 5 years of nothing, they came out of nowhere. I never saw what happened to him. For all I know, they still have him.”

“Oh,” Ezra says, his face falling.

“You know, Zeb,” Kanan begins, not wanting to make things any sadder, “his Master was a Lasat.”

He scoffs. “No way.”

“He was, swear it on my life!” he claims, raising a hand. “First time I saw you, I thought Master Tapal came back to haunt me for being a bad influence.”

Zeb snickers. “Bad influence? You?”

“Eh, a nudge here and there. We were not good kids.”

He tells them a few stories before Sabine and Zeb are called away by Hera and Chopper, leaving Ezra and Kanan alone. Ezra makes to follow them but stops, his expression cautiously blank.

“What is it, Ezra?” Kanan asks, already knowing that he’s brimming with curiosity.

“You said he was...your best friend?”

He frowns. “Yeah, ever since we were kids. Why?”

“I dunno. The way you talked about him just reminded me of my parents,” Ezra admits hesitantly. “Sappy. Did you—?”

Kanan sighs, touching his necklace again.

He had always been more reckless than Cal, back then. He threw himself into everything, into every situation. No matter the problem or the person, he was all-in. No matter what. And that included Cal. Once he took that step, he was karked. Before he knew it, he was hanging onto the redhead’s every word.

Cal was...different. Kanan had known that for a long time but the war only brought it out.

Kanan had a stupid crush, that was all. But on Bracca, it was everything and more.

He’d known then, known for a long time. Cal had never seen it but he didn’t have to. Kanan was fine the way things were. It didn’t feel right, bringing things up after...well, after. So Cal never knew.

(Sure, he could see the past of things with a single touch of his hands but he’d always been pretty oblivious.)

“Love him?” Kanan asks, raising an eyebrow.

Ezra nods.

It’s without hesitation that he answers. “I did.”

When they go in search of Master Luminara, Kanan’s kids buy him a precious few minutes to search for a Cal Kestis in the prisoner logs. He’s not there, of course, but Kanan thinks he prefers that to a death certificate.

“Ho-oly shit,” Greez says over comms one day. “You guys better get up here.”

Cal shares a look with Cere, following her out of the workshop with BD on his shoulder. Merrin has already teleported to Greez’s side when they arrive, lightsabers in hand. Greez passes the young man—not so young anymore, Cere has commented teasingly as he desperately shaves away any trace of his age—a pair of electrobinoculars.

Squinting through the scope, he spies a trail of smoke on the horizon attached to a ship.

“Kriffing hells,” Cere says after she gets a look.

In all their 10 years here, no one has ever landed—or crashed, for that matter—on the planet. The few ships that have come into orbit were Imperial and always quickly dealt with before word could get out. This one, however, isn’t exactly your standard Imperial cruiser. And it’s wrecked.

“Looks like a modified VCX-100 light freighter to me,” Greez says. “It’s a nice ship.”

Merrin rolls her eyes. “Are we waiting for them to come to us?”

“Looks like we don’t have to,” Cere declares, still looking through the binocs. “They’re headed this way, six hostiles. Three humans, a Lasat, a Twi’lek, and a droid.”

Greez laughs. “A Lasat? We’re kriffed.”

“Says you,” Merrin snorts.

“I’m with her,” Cal agrees, a cocky smile on his face. “Merrin and I will take the Vault. Cere, Greez, take home. BD will lure the big ones our way.”

“You got it, kid.”

Cere puts a hand on his shoulder before he can follow Merrin—more or less, seeing as she just teleports everywhere. “Be careful.”

The worst part of intruders is that even the hypothetical good ones can’t know Bogano is here. They’ll have to knock them out hard enough for their memories to be spotty and dump them in a nearby system if they’re smart—and they are.

Cal slips on his robe, a gift from Cere, and flips the hood up, making for the Vault.

If these visitors think they can take the Holocron, they have another thing coming.

“Are you sure we can find help here?” Ezra asks for the third time as they approach the massive building in the distance. “It looks...deserted.”

Hera sighs for the third time. “Scanners said there were signs of life here in a higher concentration than the rest of the planet. It’s worth checking out.”

Sabine gestures through the mild fog. “There’s buildings up ahead.”

“Good, let’s head there,” Kanan says, a cautious hand on his lightsaber.

Hopping across platforms is a pain, but they all manage to make their way to what looks like a residential area. A small path digs into the ground, leading deeper inside the planet’s crust. With a look at her second in command, Hera starts toward it. However, she stops when Kanan freezes.

“Do you feel that?” he asks suddenly, squinting as he looks into the distance.

Something is...tugging at him. Something in the Force is insistent that he go...that way. The feeling of incompleteness settles inside his chest.

“No…” Ezra replies uneasily. “What is it?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know.” After a moment, he decides. “I think I should go this way. You guys go on ahead.”

Zeb scoffs. “I’ll go with you. We don’t know who lived here. Could be Inquisitors for all we know.”

“They generally prefer places with lava,” Ezra counters.

The group splits, with Hera leading Sabine, Chopper, and Ezra into the abode. She and Sabine have their blasters raised, while Ezra keeps a hand on his lightsaber. Chopper is always ready to give someone a nasty shock.

“Anyone home?” Sabine calls.

There’s no answer.

They come across a small kitchen and dining room, where two chairs are pulled out. Over one hangs a small, ratty brown robe with multiple blaster burns.

Ezra plucks it off the back of the seat. “Woah, cool,” he breathes. “Very Jedi-like, huh?”

“Leave it, Ezra,” Hera chides fondly.

“You’d best,” says another voice.

All three of them jump as a lightsaber hums to life. Double-bladed, the weapon burns bright white throughout the room, illuminating its bearer, a woman with dark skin and hair, and her companion.

“Inquisitor!” Ezra cries, lighting his own.

The lightsaber wielder’s friend fires off a blaster right at Hera, who’s shoved out of the way by Sabine. Chopper shrieks, his head spinning.

“Look out!”

On the surface, Zeb follows Kanan to the edge of the platform. There, they find a zip line, which they intend to brave before a series of chirps stops them.

Zeb yelps and lifts his rifle when a droid appears, only stopped by Kanan’s raised hand.

It’s...a buddy droid.

“Hey, little guy,” Kanan greets cautiously. “What are you doing all the way out here?”

He beeps excitedly and backs away, indicating that they should follow. With a single leap, he attaches himself to the zipline and whirrs as he zooms all the way down.

“Don’t tell me we’re following the droid,” Zeb groans.

Kanan just smiles. “We’re following the droid.”

Using the Force to balance himself, he leaps atop the zipline and begins to tiptoe his way down. Behind him, Zeb sighs but reaches up to grab the line, following right after him. They land on a platform a good distance away, where a small slope is guarded by two statues; the beings depicted are of an unknown species, one lost to time.

“I don’t like this,” Zeb says as soon as he hops onto the grass. “It’s like the start of a bad horror holo.”

Kanan snorts. “If that were true, it would be raining tookas and massiffs.”

The buddy droid whirrs loudly to get their attention and bounces his way up the sloping path, on top of which sits a fluffy native creature. Kanan doesn’t know what they’re called, but this one is adorable. She chirps at them, much like the droid did.

“Oh, you’re a sweet little thing, aren’t you?” Kanan coos, moving to meet the creature and let her sniff his hand.

She makes a happy noise and nudges him.

“Ugh,” Zeb mutters, “more things.”

The droid and the creature lead them to the entrance of the massive, ancient building that had caught Kanan’s eye from the crash site. He steps in front of Zeb, placing his hand on the runes in the rock as the Force sings. This isn’t what’s calling him, but…

“Something is here,” Kanan whispers.

“I hope it’s not something that wants to eat us,” Zeb says long-sufferingly.

The slab of rock retreats into the space above, leaving an open tunnel of sorts.

“Karabast,” the Lasat curses, “I hate Jedi stuff.”

Kanan rolls his eyes. “C’mon.”

It’s a tight fit, but the two squeeze their way through, Kanan leading the way. They exit into a large cavern filled with a few inches of water, just enough to be annoying. Standing in the midst of the cave is a figure in a brown robe. The moment Kanan spots him, he draws his lightsaber and stands in front of Zeb until he can ready his rifle, too.

“You are not meant to be here.”

Kanan frowns. “The Force says otherwise. Who are you?”

“The guardian of this vault. You need to leave,” the figure says.

From underneath their robe, they draw a very familiar weapon. With a snap and a hiss, two blades of yellow light appear. Kanan lights his own lightsaber in response but it’s too little too late.

A green smoke encompasses Zeb, who yelps as he’s flung across the room by a pissed off Nightsister—which makes zero sense because they’re all supposed to be dead.

Kanan makes for his friend, interrupted only by the mysterious guardian rushing at him.

“Where did you get that lightsaber?” the faceless figure hisses.

And, well, Kanan doesn’t know how to answer that question except with another question. “Where did you get yours? ”

Back in the residential platform, Hera leaps in between Ezra and the lightsaber-wielder. “Wait!” she cries.

Both stop, staring at her like she’s crazy.

“That’s a healed kyber crystal, isn’t it?” Hera asks, pointing to her white blade. “You’re not an Inquisitor. You’re a Jedi.”

The woman lowers her lightsaber just slightly. “I was.”

“I’m one, too!” Ezra chirps, popping out from behind Hera. “Er. I’m training to be one!”

Her eyes widen. “A Padawan? Who’s your Master?”

Before he can answer, Hera speaks for him. “Kanan Jarrus. But his name used to be Caleb Dume.”

“Caleb?” she asks, her voice hushed in awe. “Depa Billaba’s Padawan?”

She nods.

Abruptly, the woman turns sharply on her heel, raising her comm unit to her lips and rushing out the door. “Cal, they’re non-hostiles, non-hostiles! Don’t hurt your boyfriend!”

“What!?” Ezra and Sabine cry at the same time, the former’s voice cracking.

Without another word, they follow her and her friend outside.

Merrin has the Lasat out of the Vault long before Cal gets his opponent to the entrance, admittedly. Lightsaber to lightsaber combat is significantly more balanced than Nightsister magick against a bo-rifle, poor guy.

Still, Cal pushes the intruder to the top of the Vault’s slope, the man just on the edge of slipping.

That’s when Cere’s voice crackles through the comms.

“Cal, they’re non-hostiles, non-hostiles! Don’t hurt your boyfriend!”

Hand grasping the intruder’s shirt, holding him above the edge, Cal freezes. He meets brown eyes and suddenly can’t breathe, gaze drifting to the cord around the taller man’s neck. His gloveless fingers just barely skim the material, Force signatures exploding in front of his eyes.

And suddenly, he can see it. He can see himself, painstakingly painting that symbol onto the metal and bartering for a cord. He sees an older Caleb sobbing in the quiet of an unfamiliar room, clutching that necklaces like a lifeline.

“Did you—?”

“Love him? I did.”

A shaky breath passes his lips.

“Caleb?” he asks, voice breaking on the name that’s so unfamiliar on his tongue.

The grip on his wrist loosens.

Kanan hears the woman’s voice, clear as day, but he almost doesn’t believe it at first. He almost doesn’t believe when he hears that whispered question. Caleb. It’s the name of a stranger and yet—yet when that robe’s hood slips off to reveal red hair and bright green eyes, he feels like he’s never known any other name.

“Cal?”

The Force wasn’t calling him to the Vault. It was calling him to its guardian.

Silence falls, the rest of the world fading away. All they’ve been through, all they’ve seen, and it all stops in this moment. It all adds up to this.

Cal lets go of his shirt, letting him balance precariously at the top of the muddy slope down from the Vault. Neither of them speaks—neither of them knows what to feel, except bright, unparalleled joy.

Cal doesn’t let himself flinch when Caleb reaches, his fingers just barely skimming his cheek.

He doesn’t get much further. Green smoke encompasses his body and before Cal knows it, his best friend is being flung from the Vault entrance to the platform beyond, screaming as he goes. The platform beyond, where the Oggdo used to reside, is covered in flowers. It was there that Cal planted his little sapling in a boot and there that the plant spread, covering almost every inch of land with budding blue and yellow flowers.

Cal whirls around to see Merrin, her eyes glowing green.

“Merrin, no!” he protests, eyes wide with desperation. “That’s Caleb!”

Merrin’s glowing fades as she glances at the nearby Lasat and her friend’s horrified face. “My mistake,” she says in that tone that says she knows exactly who he is.

(They were taking too long to speak, in her opinion.)

Cal huffs at her before getting a running start toward the entrance, using the Force to balance himself as he slides down that muddied slope, sailing right toward Caleb. Near the end, he leaps into the air, propelling himself a mere few feet from his collapsed companion.

“Caleb!” he cries, stumbling the last few steps and falling to his knees, where Caleb is face-down in the damp grass, his hair-tie mysteriously missing.

Caleb is—well, he’s okay. He’s just...wheezing with laughter.

He pushes himself up on his elbows and flips over just as Cal makes it to him, his chest heaving with the effort. And still, he laughs, a half-mad sound.

“Are you o—?” Cal is cut off by his own yelp when Caleb flings himself up from the ground and pulls Cal with him.

He embraces the redhead, dragging them both to their feet so he can swing Cal around. Cal shrieks and hitches his legs up on his hips, as difficult as that is with the man’s height—the bastard, he grew. He reaches desperately for Caleb’s shoulders to hold onto when they spin, completely unaware of Cere and the rest of Caleb’s group appearing on the platform.

Finally, Caleb stops, looking up at Cal with shining eyes and a smile that could kill a man. Cal leans forward, letting his forehead fall against his and breathing out a sigh of relief.

“I thought the Inquisitors had you,” Caleb whispers, a thousand more words in the back of his mind, too many to count.

Cal’s eyes well with tears. “I thought you were dead.”

Caleb has always been more reckless than Cal but the latter was the one to hear his words echo through that necklace, an admission years too late. It’s because of that little echo that Cal buries a hand in the hair that falls to his shoulders and pushes his head upward, meeting him in a searing kiss.

Out of shock, Caleb both squeaks—adorable, Cal thinks—and clutches the back of Cal’s shirt for a moment before dropping him. Luckily, his instinct has him landing on his feet.

The drop pulls him away and, looking up, he sees Caleb looking shell-shocked.

He just grins, grabs the taller man’s shirt, and pulls him in for another kiss, this one saying much more than the first. Caleb plants his feet and buries a hand in Cal’s hair for good measure.

They both ignore Greez cackling in the distance and Sabine’s whispered: “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck —”

Because in that moment, all is right with the galaxy. Cal’s flowers are fully grown and blossoming beneath their feet, Caleb’s robe is waiting for him in the other room, and they have each other again.

And that’s all they’ve ever really wanted, isn’t it?

River’s Tags: @hahaboop & @mystoragehatesme

Masterlist

#kanan jarrus x cal kestis #kanan jarrus #cal kestis #kanan jarrus/cal kestis #cal kestis x kanan jarrus #cal kestis/kanan jarrus #sw #star wars #sw fanfic #star wars fanfic #jedi fallen order #jfo #star wars rebels #sw: rebels #river #rivika #generallynerdy

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